


Here We Go Again (a What's Your Number? AU)

by alby_mangroves, daroh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Big Bang Challenge, Blow Jobs, Fanart, Frottage, Humor, Illustrated, M/M, Movie AU, Rom-com, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16121795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh/pseuds/daroh
Summary: Merlin’s determined to find the best ex of his life; Arthur, the best sex. Arthur proposes a neighbourly arrangement to get them both what they want. What could possibly go wrong?





	Here We Go Again (a What's Your Number? AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Author notes: This fic is an AU of the movie [What's Your Number?](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0770703/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1), directed by Mark Mylod and written by Karyn Bosnak, based on her book. No infringement is intended on those works or BBC's Merlin. The title comes from [the Neon Trees song "Animal,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gM7Hlg75Mlo) which is featured in the film.  
> Thanks so much to the mods for running this fest; to my dynamite beta [thewaysinwhich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaysinwhich) who has lived in this doc with me for months, never tiring of cheerleading and giving feedback and absolutely brilliant suggestions, and for being my near-constant virtual companion; to [ememmyem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ememmyem) for the amazingly swift Brit-pick; to [Skitz_Phenom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom), for the cheerleading, support, ingenious plot ideas, and invaluable friendship; and OMG to [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves) for collaborating with me! Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen, and I'm so fucking grateful for your GORGEOUS art, the killer banner, the ornaments(!), your enthusiasm and interest, cheering and support, and your very chill approach to the whole thing!! ILU and I'm so so grateful!<3
> 
> Artist notes: Kind thanks to [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello) and [cobaltmoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony) for their beta eyes, and to daroh for letting me tag along on this awesome ride. We hope you enjoy our collaboration! ♥

 

 

Mordred isn’t exactly the best boyfriend Merlin has ever had. He’s self-centred and immature, and he doesn’t seem to do much of anything, other than go to clubs and sleep with Merlin.

Merlin sits opposite him at the table in his flat, wondering if Mordred’s good looks and dancing skills are enough to hang a relationship on, but he figures they’ll have to do for now, since what Mordred does have going for him, at least at the moment, is that he is, in fact, Merlin’s boyfriend.

“So, Mordred,” Merlin starts, frowning as Mordred pours the last of Merlin’s soya milk into his cereal. “You know, Gwen’s wedding is coming up and—”

“Gwen?” Mordred asks.

“Yes, Gwen. My best friend? Since childhood?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Her wedding is coming up, and I, uh, was wondering—” he pauses as Mordred sloshes a dripping spoonful of cereal into his mouth—“if, um, you might go with me.”

Mordred looks up, making surprised eye contact. “Oh. Erm, who else will be there?”

“Well, all of Gwen’s and Lance’s friends and family, I would imagine. It’s a wedding.”  

Mordred chews another mouthful of cereal, appearing to think the matter over. Merlin expects him to ask when it is, or where it is, but instead, he just shakes his head and says, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s really my scene.”

“Your _scene_? It’s a wedding, Mordred. It’s nobody’s scene.”

“Okay, so why don’t you skip it, too, then? Make something up about why you can’t go.”

“H—How do you not understand how this works?” Merlin stutters out.

“How what works?”

“Oh, my god. Okay,” Merlin says, pushing his chair away from the table.

Mordred’s brow creases, his lips pouting in a way that Merlin is sure he must’ve found alluring at some point. Now it’s just irritating.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” Merlin continues. “I don’t think we’re very compatible.”

“What?” Mordred’s pout becomes more petulant, the cereal forgotten. “We’re plenty compatible—at least where it counts.”

“And where’s that?”

Mordred huffs, “In bed, obviously! You didn’t seem to think we were incompatible last night.”

“Last night wasn’t compatibility, Mordred. It was you stumbling over at one in the morning to get sucked off.”

“Yeah, and you love giving head. So what?”

“'So what'? So then you just passed out, as usual, and hogged the duvet even though you kept muttering about being too hot.”

Mordred shrugs. “Whatever,” he says around another soggy mouthful of cereal.  

“You really are a dick, you know that?” Merlin gets up, taking in the sight of Mordred, who seems as if he’s just going to go on eating, as if they’re not breaking up right now. “You know what? Stop eating my cereal. And stop coming over, and just . . . just leave. And take that dodgy rucksack with you. God knows what you’ve got living in there.”

Mordred finally looks affronted, but not too put out, all things considered.

Merlin is watching Mordred gather his things when there’s a knock at the door. He knows this can only be one person, and at exactly the wrong time: his stupid, stupidly hot neighbour, Arthur, who is equal parts Adonis and arsehole.

Merlin opens the door just enough to glare at Arthur. “What?” he says, voice low.

Arthur, as usual, has no intention of just standing in the hallway. He pushes the door open and waltzes past Merlin into the flat. “Come on, Merlin! I’ve brought you your paper and—oh!” he says, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of Mordred, who is hastily shoving clothes into his bag. “What have we here?”

“Nothing,” Merlin says, hoping it sounds like a firm and final answer. He really does not want to add Arthur to this scene, which is going badly enough already. “What are you doing, Arthur? I don’t even get the paper.”

“I know, but I forgot my keys, and I thought you might not let me hang out without a decent excuse.”

“Like a paper I don’t get.”

“Exactly,” Arthur says, pointing at Merlin and smiling broadly. “I thought we could do the crossword.”

Merlin notices Mordred staring at them. “I’m sorry, Mordred,” he says, though for what, he’s not entirely sure.  

Mordred’s eyes are narrow. “I’m sorry for _you_ , Merlin. I was doing you a favour.”

Merlin stomps towards Mordred. “Get out!” He chases him to the door and slams it shut the second Mordred’s passed the threshold.

Then, he opens it again, making sure he really did just see a woman in a rumpled cocktail dress coming out of Mr. _I-forgot-my-keys'_ flat. She follows Mordred quickly down the stairs, head down.

Merlin swings the door shut a second time. He sees Arthur lounging on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, looking like he hasn’t a care in the world. And he probably doesn’t. He’s as shallow as a kiddie pool, doesn’t seem to have any job to speak of, and certainly isn’t concerned about the woman he apparently spent the night with. In fact, he’s happily, actively avoiding her, in Merlin’s flat.

 _“Forgot your keys_ , did you? Don’t you think the woman coming out of your flat could’ve helped you with that?”

“Probably. But then she wouldn’t have left,” he says, smiling, like he’s the cleverest bloke in all of London.  

“Lovely. So you’re just here to hide from yet another one-night stand?”

“Not _just_ , Merlin. It’s nice to see you, as always!” Arthur thumbs through the paper, as if they always spend the mornings together in this way.  

“Oh, shut up. She’s gone now, so you can go back.”

“But I’ve only just got here! Besides, maybe you want to talk about it, and I’m a very good listener.”

“Talk about what—Mordred? No, no. I do not want to talk about it, especially not with you. I have to get ready for work, and surely you must have something or other to do.”

“Not really,” Arthur seems pleased to report.

“Well, you have to leave, regardless.”

“Suit yourself. But you know where to find me.” Arthur stands up and stretches as if he’s been slumped on the sofa all day. It’s probably just to show off the tanned slice of his skin that appears between his t-shirt and jeans when he arches his back, arms reaching over his head. Merlin tries to glare instead of ogle—the usual struggle when looking at Arthur—but he’s sure he fails (again).   

Arthur shuffles towards the door, then points back at the sofa. “I left you the paper. You can read it on the tube. Or maybe work on the puzzle for us.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “Thanks a million.”

Arthur’s grin widens, as if Merlin is genuinely thanking him. It should seem more rude than cute, but it doesn’t. “You’re welcome,” Arthur says, as if he knows—and he must—all the things he can get away with because he looks the way he does: tall and blond and with just the right amount of muscle, and blue eyes and a smile that probably stops traffic. He turns and finally leaves, actually _sauntering_ , Merlin thinks, out of the flat.

Merlin collapses onto the sofa with relief that he’s finally alone. He picks up the paper, which he notices is opened to the crossword, one word already spelled out in a string of boxed letters: “CHARMING.”

He sighs and looks reluctantly at the clue, which reads, “ _Prince ______.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says, and tosses the paper on the table.    

~ x ~

Work that day is less than stellar. Merlin is out of sorts from the break up, not so much because he’s heartbroken, since he’s not, but because Gwen is, as usual, glowing with excitement about her upcoming wedding. It takes her a while to even notice something is off with Merlin, but when she does, she’s kind about it, though in an annoying, can’t-quite-stifle-the-happiness sort of way.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin. Was it bad? Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not like he was ‘the one.’ Honestly, he couldn’t have been further from the one.”

“Oh. Well, it’s good that you realise that. You seem really upset, though.”

“It’s just . . . I really don’t want to have to go to your wedding alone.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gwen draws him into a hug. “You don’t need Mordred there—all our friends will be there, and we all love you; you won’t be alone.”

“You know what I mean, Gwen. Sure, Will and Freya, and Elyan and Mithian, and everyone else will be there, but you’re all paired off, and besides, we’ll all be watching you and Lance, who are the most sickeningly fairytale couple ever—no offense—say your gooey vows about love and forever and all that. Mordred would’ve at least made me feel like I had someone.”

Gwen seeks out Merlin’s eyes. “Would he have, though?”

She has a point, but Merlin thinks he has a right to feel a little sorry for himself. After all, it’s only been a few hours since he was rendered boyfriendless. “No.”

Gwen smiles, gives a comforting squeeze to his arm, and walks back to her desk.  

At lunch, Merlin goes for a walk, distracting himself with a browse through the tabloids at a newsstand.

He’s wondering just how much you have to photoshop a picture of Victoria Beckham to make it look like she’s gained a stone, and is even about to ask the woman next to him that very question, when he notices what she’s reading: an article called “True Love by 30 or Not At All.”  

His eyes narrow in judgment. _Ridiculous_ , he thinks. _And harsh_. His own 30th birthday is just a few weeks away, and he hasn’t found true love yet. That doesn’t mean he won’t, obviously. It’s a load of rubbish.  

Anger, or spite, or maybe even masochism makes him pick up his own copy of the magazine, as if he needs to feed his fury. He flips hastily to the right page and gawks at the highlighted quote:

_Experts agree: if you haven’t found true love by 30, you’re probably not going to._

“This is ridiculous, isn’t it?” he asks the woman.

“What?” she says, not looking up at him, still reading.

“The love by 30 thing. Thirty is just a number! You can find love any time.”

She pauses and looks up finally, considering. She’s probably in her 40s herself, attractive in that way that results from years of a following a well-honed personal regimen.    

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I can’t think of any happy couples I know that met after 30.”

The response surprises Merlin, especially given the woman’s own air of singlehood. “Really? But I’m going to be 30 soon. That can’t be right.”

“If you say so,” she says, putting the magazine back on the rack and walking away, probably in case he suggests they find true love together.  

He knows it’s absurd, but he can’t stop thinking about the article all day. Now it’s not just Gwen’s wedding making him anxious to find love; it’s the impending shove into a new decade. He’ll be _in his 30s_. His soulless, paper-pushing job will go from just being _a job he’s doing for now_ to “what he does,” his _career_. He shudders at the thought.

Mordred was right; he’s becoming less of an appealing partner by the day, and that clock is ticking loudly now thanks to that stupid article, the one burning a hole in his back pocket.

~ x ~

By the time he gets home, he’s worked himself into a truly maudlin state. There is one thing to be glad of, though, and that’s that it’s Friday, and he doesn’t have a single thing to do tomorrow. Tonight, he can have a proper pity party, with copious amounts of alcohol and his favourite takeaway.

He’s already three drinks into his evening when the delivery boy knocks with the curry. Merlin makes his way to the door, startling when he opens it to find not a delivery _boy_ , but a delivery _man_ ; in fact, a delivery _old_ man, and _god_ that’s depressing.

He shakes off his surprise, pays the guy, giving him a good tip and then some, and then is left with only his own company again.

He sinks back into the sofa, utterly miserable.

 _That’s gonna be me_ , he thinks, taking another too-large gulp of his whisky on the rocks. _Some sad old man who can’t even keep up the office work charade, delivering curry to people on Friday nights because he’s got nothing else to do. He drives around all night bringing people food—people with lives, and occasionally the poor sod like me._

He supposes there would be perks, like the lack of constant supervision, the chance to explore new parts of the city, and to peek into all kinds of people’s lives. Maybe it wouldn’t be all bad.

Except it’s not what he wants. He wants to be the one _getting_ the curry, not making the delivery, and he most definitely wants the delivery to be for two, and not because he’s extra hungry. He wants _love_. Love and curry.

 _After 30,_ he thinks, _I can only have the curry_.

He realises he might be getting a tad melodramatic and wonders whether, before fainting on his sofa like a Victorian heroine, he could actually _do_ something. He has a month to find true love. But where? Grindr? That doesn’t seem likely, but it’s his best idea at the moment.

He downloads the app (again) and starts fiddling with his profile. Within minutes of reactivating it, a few muscular torsos are ‘hey’ing him, one of whose abs look interesting enough—whatever that means—for Merlin to return the flirting in a private chat. It’s only a few exchanges, though, before the guy is asking to meet up, _right now_ , saying he’d love _to fuck that mouth_.

While Merlin considers his mouth his best asset in the looks department, the comeon reminds him too much of Mordred’s insult, and worse, of the actual blowjob that ended with Mordred getting off and Merlin only frustrated.   

He hates this, he remembers, and it’s not going to make him happy—not for more than a few seconds, anyway, and that’s if he’s lucky.

_What a fucking nightmare._

He grabs the bottle off the table instead of his glass and takes another good swig. He tries to think about what love feels like. Has he ever really been in love? He must’ve been.

He gets up, determined, and rummages around in his desk for a notebook that isn’t filled with the stupid comics he likes to draw. He finds one and throws himself back on the sofa again, causing rice to spill onto the cushions and floor. He knows he’ll regret the mess tomorrow, but he can’t be arsed to worry about it just now. Love is much more important than rice.

Who has he been in love with? One name comes to mind immediately, of course—Leon Knightley—and he writes it down. God, Leon was dreamy—tall and fit, with those waves of reddish blond hair, a gentle air, but because he was so well bred, not because he was meek or shy. He was so far out of Merlin’s league that Merlin had spent the whole four months of their relationship trying to poshen himself up, make it seem like he belonged at the fancy restaurants Leon took him to, like he knew more than fuckall about cricket (besides that tight arses in white trousers looked good). He was always cramming in French lessons on the sly, since he’d told Leon he was fluent. Why had he even said that? He’d’ve said anything to impress the worldly Leon.  

It hadn’t worked, é _videmment_.

The next name he writes is Gwaine Greene. _Gorgeous_ Gwaine Greene. Gwaine _I-don’t-do-monogamy_ Greene. _Ugh_. Sexy bastard.

Gwaine had been the first guy to show Merlin how amazing sex could be—maybe the only guy, really, since with everyone else there were always miscommunications and timing issues and insecurities and who knows what else. It was never as easy and hot and good as it had been with Gwaine. _God_ , he loved Gwaine—or loved sex with Gwaine, anyway.

He grabs his laptop.

“Gwaine Greene,” he types, wondering what Gwaine is up to. He hasn’t seen him in years, and he really wants to, to see if he’s still so ridiculously fit.

He is.

Merlin groans around another swig of whisky, letting it burn his throat. He sorts through pictures of Gwaine that are way too easy to find. There are a lot of them, apparently, from the bar he’s been working at—all with him looking positively sultry, like he can get the camera to come just from focusing on him.

The man _oozes_ sex, and Merlin decides that that might be a very nice thing to think about for a while. He unbuttons his jeans, trying to keep his drink from sloshing everywhere, and the computer teeters dangerously in his lap.

With his trousers undone, he slips a hand inside his boxers and starts stroking lazily, encouraging a hard-on. He deserves a good wank after Mordred’s lack of attention, and Gwaine Greene memories get him every time.

He can’t quite get his brain to cooperate, though, so he searches for some visual aid on his computer. Even the previews of porn videos might be enough, but he clicks on one that seems popular.  He’s too tired, or drunk, or frustrated, to pay attention to much of anything as he tugs on himself, and when he comes, dribbling his spend onto his hand and t-shirt, it’s far less climactic than he’d hoped for.

Still, he feels at least a little satisfied and a lot sleepy, so he pulls his hand out of his boxers, pushes the laptop down the sofa to stretch out, and sags further into the cushions, letting himself fall into the oblivion of sleep.  

~ x ~

He wakes to an incessant knocking on the door and groans, realising after a few seconds that this has to be Arthur. Again.

In his hungover irritation, he doesn’t really register anything but the pain in his head and his deep desire for Arthur to go away.

Instead, Arthur tries the doorknob, which, for some ungodly, very regrettable reason, is unlocked. “Merlin!” he says, bursting in. “Thank god you left the door open! I really needed to get in here.”

“Of course you did,” Merlin drawls, wishing he were still asleep, in another flat far away from here, with heavy locks on the door.  

He looks around, taking in the sight of himself, his trousers open, t-shirt hem stiff with dried come, the taste of bad whisky and stale curry in his mouth.

He looks at the morning-fresh Arthur and grimaces. No one should look so bright and happy on a Saturday morning, especially when barging into someone else’s flat.  

He stands up and buttons his trousers. He walks into the bedroom and pulls his t-shirt off, putting on another one that if not quite clean, at least isn’t crunchy.

He goes into the bathroom and checks his reflection, blinking wide at it. His hair is flattened to one side of his head but sticking up everywhere else. He has bluish bags under his eyes, and the rest of his face is a sickly off-white colour. He generally looks like shit. “Great,” he says, then he brushes his teeth and washes his face in an effort to resemble something not dredged out of a whisky lagoon.

He sighs, disappointed but not surprised by his more or less unchanged appearance and goes back out into the living room. Arthur, oddly, is cleaning up the curry.  

“What are you doing?”  

“I’m at an early dentist appointment,” Arthur says, scraping food from a plate and into the bin.

“I mean with the dishes.”

“I’m cleaning. I thought that was obvious.”

It’s too early in the morning for a retort. “Who’s over there?” Merlin asks, gesturing towards Arthur’s flat.

“Vanessa? No, Melissa. No—yes, Vanessa. Vanessa.”

“You’re a truly awful person,” Merlin says, relegating himself to the sofa once again. He isn’t up for much else.

Arthur turns to him as he rinses the dishes. “Why? She had a good time! They all have a good time. I make sure of it.” Arthur’s smile is so cocky Merlin could punch him, if he could only stand up.  

“How do you know? You’re out the door before they can even lie to you about how good you were.”

“They do. Trust me,” he says, laughing, and handing Merlin a glass of water. “Here.”  

Merlin wants to refuse it, wants to refuse everything from this womanising arsehole, but he’s really thirsty, and Arthur is being nice—to him, at least.

Arthur sits next to him, and the jostle of the laptop on the far cushion brings the screen to life. Frozen there is a far more graphic shot of a threesome than Merlin realised was even in that video. He’s not even sure he remembers a third guy showing up.   

He jumps at the computer to slam it shut.

“Good night?” Arthur asks, an eyebrow quirked.

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, I’m not judging.”

“You? Judge me? You have the moral standing of a bedbug. Give me the laptop.”

Arthur laughs at that, which makes Merlin smile, just a little.

“Alright, alright, take it.” Arthur says, handing Merlin the computer. He picks up the notebook next to it, though. “Moving on from the pornography, what’s this?.”  

“What? Nothing! Give that to me, too,” Merlin says, trying and failing to swipe the book out of Arthur’s hand. It’s difficult with the computer already clutched in one arm and Arthur holding the notebook aloft on his other side.   

Arthur is looking up at the page, leaning out of Merlin’s reach. “Who’s ‘Leon Knightley’ then?”

“Nobody! Give that to me!” Merlin feels his neck flushing in frustration. He needs this to stop. It was bad enough having drunkenly made a sad list of exes, or starting to make one, anyway, but having Arthur learn the specifics of his patheticness, _taunt_ him with it, even—that’s unbearable.  

He lets the laptop slide to the floor and reaches over Arthur, grasping for the notebook.

“Nah-ah,” Arthur says. “And who is ‘Gwaine Greene’? Apart from someone _gorgeous_ , obviously.”

“Shut _up_ , Arthur, and just give it to me! You’re such a fucking prat!” He stretches over Arthur enough, finally, to reach the book, but they struggle for it—Arthur laughing and playful, Merlin a hungover mess trying to clutch at whatever shreds of dignity he thinks might reside in that notebook. “Give me, give me . . .” Dignity might be too much to hope for, he realises.

Arthur leans so far over that he’s on his side, and Merlin is stretched over him, intent on the prize in Arthur’s hand. When Arthur turns his gaze up to Merlin’s face, inches above his, his smile falters. Merlin suddenly realises how they’re positioned, and he holds his breath, his eyes searching Arthur’s face a little frantically. He remembers how he looked in the mirror.

The tension eases before things become truly awkward, and Arthur loosens his grip with a light laugh. “Take it,” he says.

It feels odd to have him just give it up after they’ve been struggling, but Merlin’s glad to have it back, even if Arthur only let it go because he’d gotten an eyeful of how particularly awful Merlin looks this morning.   

Merlin sits up and shifts back to the other side of the sofa. Arthur sits up, too, but facing Merlin, one leg propped between them, which is a little distracting. “What is that really?” he asks.

Something in his voice is kind, inviting confidence, and his expression for once holds no smugness or teasing. He looks like he really just wants to know, and more than that, like he’s someone Merlin could tell.

Merlin hates how easily he, too, can be taken in by Arthur after a millisecond of niceness, but he figures he has nothing to lose by telling him.

“It’ll sound daft,” he begins, “but I was trying to think if any of my ex-boyfriends could’ve been—” he winces, not knowing what to say exactly. Not to someone else.

“Could’ve been what?”

“I don’t know. . . . More. More than just a boyfriend. Like maybe, someone to stay with. _The one_.” He shrugs, his eyes darting to Arthur’s and then to the floor. He expects Arthur to make fun of him.

Arthur stays serious, though, which might be worse. “How could they be ‘the one’ if you broke up?”

The words hurt, as if Arthur is emphasising how no one has wanted to stay with Merlin, to keep loving him, if they ever had in the first place.

Merlin feels defensive instantly. Talking about this—to Arthur, especially—was stupid. “Well maybe they weren’t then, but they could be now, since it’s been a while. Maybe it was just the wrong time, not the wrong person.”

“Ah,” Arthur nods. “And what brought on this theory?”

This is the really embarrassing part, Merlin knows, but he keeps going. “I read a study about how if you don’t meet your true love by 30, you basically won’t ever.”

“What!” Arthur laughs, shocked and kind of delighted. “A study? I’m guessing you didn’t find this in the _Lancet_.”

“No,” Merlin says, grabbing a sofa pillow and hitting Arthur with it.

“Merlin, that’s absurd!”

“But it isn’t! There were statistics and everything! Experts have researched this and found that people with real, lasting love found it before 30.”

“Okay, so what if they did? What does that matter?”

“So! I’ll be 30 next month!”

“Merlin, it was a tabloid article, not a life prescription.”

Arthur’s dismissiveness is not helping. “What would you know about a love life, anyway? You only have a _sex_ life—and not even that! A _one-night-stand_ life! I happen to like relationships, Arthur, and I want love. I don’t care what you think of it. If the odds really are that I’ve already let it slip through my fingers, I’m going to go back and reclaim it.”

Arthur stares at Merlin for a while, not arguing, not saying anything. Finally, he says, “Alright. Let’s find you your old new love.”

Merlin is relieved but then surprised by Arthur’s statement when it really catches up with him. “Wait—what do you mean ‘let’s’? This has nothing to do with you.”

“It could. What if I help you track down your exes?”

“And why would you do that?”

Arthur’s eyes shift to the door. He smiles guiltily back at Merlin.  

“No. No. Absolutely not. You can’t use my flat as your dentist’s office.”  

“Merlin, I’ll be helping you! I’m good at investigating things! And I want to help.”

Merlin is skeptical, but the company is nice, and he supposes two heads are better than one, especially when it had taken his own all of five minutes to turn his search for Gwaine into a sad, drunken wank.

“Okay,” Merlin sighs. “But I’m sure I’ll regret this.”

~ x ~

A few hours later, Arthur is back, declaring that he has found the bar where Gwaine works and that they are going there tonight.  

Merlin takes his time grooming himself, wanting to wow Gwaine if he possibly can. He wears jeans that are skinny but not skin, and a deep blue shirt that Arthur says brings out his eyes and emphasises his cheekbones.

When Merlin has finished messing his hair a little fetchingly, he hopes, he turns to Arthur for final assessment.  

 

 

Arthur steps forward and pulls his fingers through small tufts of Merlin’s hair, making it higher and messier, Merlin can tell.

“There you go,” Arthur says. “Very fuckable, and not yet fucked.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Of course it is! Trust me. If there’s one thing I know how to judge, it’s looks.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “We all have our gifts.”

“Nothing wrong with an eye for aesthetics,” Arthur points out.

Merlin considers what Arthur has on. It’s the same loose jeans, faded t-shirt and trainers he’s been wearing since barging in that morning. He looks unfairly perfect for anything, so it hardly matters, but Merlin appreciates that Arthur might not dress up to go out tonight. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asks.  

“Unless you’d rather see me in something else?” Arthur quips, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Merlin shakes his head, amused at Arthur’s shameless lines. They’re endearing if they aren’t sleazy, and he still can’t decide which. “You’re impossible,” he says. “Let’s go.”

~ x ~

They arrive at the pub a little after nine. Arthur gets them drinks because Merlin wants to hang back at first, see how Gwaine looks. Arthur returns with their pints, placing them at the high table Merlin has chosen in the corner of the bar.

“Do you see him?” Arthur asks.

“Not yet.”

“Well, if he’s that hot a bartender, he’ll definitely be on shift on a Saturday night.”

“I hope so.”

Merlin is getting nervous, genuinely _nervous_ as they sit there. His eyes keep combing the bar until finally they find Gwaine coming out of a back room with a case of something on his shoulder, the strain making the impressive muscles in his arms flex.

“I take it you’ve clocked him?” Arthur says.

“What?”

“Your jaw is on the floor, Merlin. You might want to gather it up before you slip in a puddle of your own drool.”

“Shut up. Shut up and look at him.”

Arthur’s eyes follow Merlin’s gaze, and then they’re both watching Gwaine—recognisable always from his shampoo-commercial hair and his ridiculous body. Plenty of guys have great bodies, but somehow Gwaine’s just seems _made_ for sex. “It’s like he’s made of sex,” Merlin says in wonder.  

“Made of sex?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah,” Merlin breathes out, already feeling affected by the idea. “Best sex I’ve ever had. By _far_ ,” he adds, turning back to Arthur.  

“Well, you haven’t had sex with me,” Arthur says, seemingly unmoved by the sight of Gwaine, which doesn’t make sense if he’s genuinely hitting on Merlin.  

“And I never will.”

“But why? I might be made of sex. You won’t know until you try.” Arthur takes a long gulp of his beer, as if he’s had the last word.

Merlin sneers. “If you’re made of anything, it’s arrogance.”

“Confidence,” Arthur corrects.

“Arseholery. It doesn’t matter. I’m getting back with Gwaine, remember? That’s the whole reason we’re here!”

“Wait—you’ve decided already? You haven’t even talked to him yet.”

“So? I’ll make it work.”

“You will, will you? What made it not work before, then?”

Merlin frowns, remembering. _He needed more than just me. He needed an open relationship._ “That was different,” he says. “Now fuck off. You’ve done your part.”

He downs his pint and walks over to the bar, preferring to dive into this Gwaine situation rather than defend himself to a depraved Arthur, of all people.

He walks up to the bar, trying to look casual, like he has no idea Gwaine is there. Luckily, Gwaine—boisterous, sultry, forward Gwaine—spares him any awkwardness. “Merlin!” he cheers, as soon as he catches sight of him. He rushes out from behind the bar and wraps Merlin in a hug.

It feels more like foreplay than any public greeting should, and Merlin’s body responds to it instantly, the swaying press of Gwaine against him, his fond grasp, his _smell_.

“Hi, Gwaine,” he says, feeling the warmth of his own blush. “It’s great to see you.”

“You, too, Merlin. You here with anyone?” he asks, glancing over Merlin’s shoulder. “You should stay,” he adds with a smile. “Till later, I mean, when I get off. I’d love to catch up.” Gwaine’s energy is a little overwhelming, but it’s nice to be greeted with such enthusiasm.  

He smiles shyly. “Erm, yeah,” he says. “I’d like th—”

He’s interrupted by Arthur, coming up behind him and calling, “Merlin, did you get our drinks?”

Merlin shuts his eyes in irritation, then turns to him. “No, Arthur. Go sit down,” he grinds out.  

“Hi,” Gwaine says to Arthur, all friendliness and charm, in contrast to Merlin. “I’m Gwaine.” He reaches out a hand to Arthur, who grips his forearm in return, as if they’re brothers-in-arms or something, and Merlin sours on Gwaine, just a little.

“I’m Arthur,” Arthur says. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re with Merlin? You both should stay—hang out later. It’ll be fun,” he says with a hint of a wink. _A wink!_  

“Thanks, but he’s making it an early night,” Merlin drawls.

Gwaine’s smile falters a little. “Oh, that’s too bad.” Before Arthur can contradict Merlin, Gwaine perking back up with a turn to Merlin, “Still, you’ll stay, right? I haven’t seen you in ages. You look really good, too. I’ve missed you.”

His smile is gentler than before, more personal, and Merlin’s insides melt a little.   

“Yeah, of course I’ll stay,” he answers, his interest back on the rise.  

Gwaine pulls away then, still smiling, and nods. Merlin watches him go back to the bar and swing right back into action, all charm and flair as he pours drinks, bantering with the customers.  

“He’s good,” Arthur admires.

“Hands off,” Merlin warns, his eyes still glued to Gwaine.

“Trust me, not my type.”

“Everyone is your type.”

“Not really.”

Merlin turns to Arthur, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t get you, but I probably don’t want to. Anyway, you can go now,” he adds, looking back at Gwaine. “I’m sure you’re dying to find some unlucky woman to defile.”  

“Or man,” Arthur corrects.

His gaze snaps back to Arthur again. Despite Arthur’s endless come-ons, the information surprises him. “So you’re actually bi? I thought you were just trying it on me because it’s your default mode.”

Arthur smirks. “Oh? Is that why you keep turning me down?”

“Arthur, there is no end to the reasons I turn you down. Now go find someone else to pull. Except Gwaine.”  

“Yes, we’ve established that won’t be an issue. Still, take my number in case you decide waiting for him isn’t worth it.”

“Arthur—” Merlin protests.

But Arthur has already grabbed Merlin’s phone and is punching in the number.

“Why would you even want me to call you while you’re pulling?”

“I didn’t say I’d answer,” Arthur grins. He hands the phone back to Merlin. “Good luck.”  

“Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin says. He wonders if he should put a sign on the man, warning society what it’s in for.

He shakes his head and goes to the bar, picking a stool at the end, hoping to chat with Gwaine here and there. He wonders how much he’ll flirt with Merlin, if he’ll do more than flirt.

Gwaine is probably as attentive as he can be, Merlin figures. He makes sure Merlin is never wanting for a drink, but Merlin notices he’s pretty good about that with everyone.  

He also notices just how flirty Gwaine is with everyone. There’s no telling who he’s sleeping with, who he’s trying to seduce, and who he’s just being nice to—Merlin included.

Merlin knows he’s a bit drunk, but the confusion, the ups and downs of his emotions each time Gwaine leans in closer than he needs to to chat with him, or gazes at him like he’s the only person in the world, only to do similar things with other people around the bar, and some even at the tables he personally delivers drinks to.

After five drinks and no sign of the pub clearing out anytime soon, Merlin acknowledges he’s not nearly as interested in getting back with Gwaine as he’d been the night before, when, unsurprisingly, he’d been dwelling on Gwaine’s rather mind-blowing sexual talents. He hadn’t really remembered what it felt like to be one of the many people that Gwaine loved, that he loved knowing and being with and making feel good.   

So, Gwaine, Merlin realises, can’t be his true love, because Gwaine is in love with loving people. There’s nothing wrong with it—in fact, it’s kind of wonderful, but it’s not for Merlin.

The next time Gwaine comes over, Merlin smiles apologetically and tells him it was really good to see him but that he has to get going.

Gwaine seems genuinely crestfallen, telling him he should come back sometime, and Merlin appreciates the sentiment.

Merlin takes a while getting home, and he drags himself up the stairs to his flat once he gets there. He pauses at the landing in front of Arthur’s door, wondering if he really has pulled that night, then continues on to his own flat. He lets himself in, crosses Gwaine’s name out on his list, and goes to bed.

 

 

Merlin wakes to the smell of coffee brewing. He knows he didn’t set the coffeemaker to auto-brew. He’s not even sure his coffeemaker has that feature.

He walks into the living room , squinting at the harsh sunlight pouring in through the open curtains. Arthur is at the kitchen table with Merlin’s laptop. He looks fresh and lemony, somehow, pretty as a picture, which makes Merlin want to throw something at him.

“You’re up!” Arthur greets him sunnily.  

Merlin sighs and shakes his head. “This arrangement is already irritating.”  

“I’ve made coffee,” Arthur offers, as if he’s sensing Merlin’s thoughts.  

Merlin eyes Arthur’s place-setting. “And eggs and toast,” he observes.

“Yes! You ready for some? I wasn’t sure if you were one of those people who eats first thing or waits until after coffee.”

It’s too early for any of this. “Glad you felt free to help yourself.”

“Thanks. Hey—it wasn’t for nothing, anyway. I’m here to get a jump on our next name on the list—unless things worked out last night with Gwaine?”

“Obviously not,” Merlin says, pouring himself coffee. He plops down opposite Arthur at the table. “I take it you had better luck,” he adds, annoyance in his voice.

“I met someone while I was leaving the bar, actually.”

“How convenient.”

“I thought so. And luckily, she only wanted the one night.”

“You were that disappointing? So much for being ‘made of sex.’”

“Oh, that wasn’t it. The sex was incredible,” Arthur says. “She’s a tourist. Going back to Italy tonight.”

Merlin shakes his head. The man is made of luck, maybe. “So, why are you over here, then? You could just tell her it’s time to go.”

“Like I said—I’m here to help you!”

“ . . . right.” Merlin takes a warming gulp of his coffee.

“Okay,” Arthur says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Tell me who else we’ve got.” He already has the notebook open to the list of names.

“Percival Mills,” Merlin says.

Arthur writes the name down. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s big—tall and muscular with really nice eyes.”

Merlin starts remembering Percival, especially his incredible body, which unfortunately was always on Percy’s mind, too. “He had these arms . . . ” Merlin begins, pulling the mug to his chest, remembering the feel of those very muscular arms around him, how warm and safe and sexy they were.

“I think I get the idea,” Arthur says, disturbing Merlin’s train of thought. “Tell me something else about him. Where did he work? Why did you break up?”

The smile falls from Merlin’s face. “The gym. For both questions.”

“You broke up because he worked at a gym?”

Merlin rolls his eyes and stands up. He walks into the kitchen to get his plate of eggs and toast, which Arthur has left warming on the cooker. Merlin frowns, wondering at the strangeness of Arthur being thoughtful, not to mention domestic. He takes the plate and a fork and sits back down. He perches his knee against the edge of the table and holds the plate between his chest and thigh.

“Trust me, it was a good reason,” he finally says, taking a bite of his breakfast. “I’d have gotten a lecture about this buttered toast—which is really good, by the way—and probably everything else I’ve eaten this week.”

“Oh—he’s a health nut.”  

“That’s an understatement. And because he was so into his muscles, he was always either making some kind of protein shake or lifting weights, or talking about protein shakes and lifting weights. And that’s when he wasn’t at the gym.”

“Sounds like you had a lot in common.”  

Merlin shrugs. “He was really nice. He was just really into working out.”

Arthur seems satisfied with that. “All right. Who else?”

“Erm,” Merlin thinks, scraping every last bit of eggs from his plate. They were really good. “Before Perce there was Cenred.”

“And the issue there?”

“Musician,” Merlin groans, remembering the incessant cacophonous band practices.   

“Oh, they’re the _worst,”_ Arthur agrees. “Did he play the guitar?”

Merlin laughs, feeling found out, but not in a bad way. “Maybe,” he says, when Arthur starts laughing, too.

“I don’t think I need to ask what happened there. Who else?”

They finish their coffee and add a few more names to the list, Merlin sort of enjoying the commiseration about what had been wrong with each of these guys.

Then he remembers that one of them is supposed to be “the one,” so he tries think of his next best hope.  

“Wait, Leon Knightley, though. He’s the one to focus the research on. He was perfect.”

“Can’t have been perfect if you broke up,” Arthur points out.  

“He was! I just—I wasn’t good enough for him. He’s really smart and sophisticated and . . . worldly. _Important_ , even.”

“Important,” Arthur scoffs. “What does he do?”

Merlin wishes he knew. “He’s in finance.”

“Finance.” Arthur crosses his arms and leans back, daring Merlin to elaborate.

“You know, he does investments and things. When it’s that high-level, it’s not easy to explain.”

“So you don’t really know.”

“Not exactly. He was in investing, or mergers or something. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter though! I mean, at the time I sort of zoned out when he talked about it, but I’ll read up on it now and be ready! If he was _the one_ , that would be amazing. You have to see him.”

“Clearly. Can’t wait.” Arthur pushes the notebook away. “I think that’s enough for now. I’ll get to work on finding these guys.”

“And what do I do?”

“What do you usually do on a Sunday?”

Merlin shrugs. “Lounge around and sketch?”

“You mean these funny-looking aliens?” Arthur asks, thumbing through the earlier pages of the notebook.

Merlin scowls. “They’re meant to be funny-looking. They’re aliens in a comic strip.”

“I wasn’t criticising—I like them!” Arthur says to him, then turns back to flip through more pages with a appreciative grin.

“Sure you do.” Merlin scoffs, but he takes Arthur up on his suggestion, getting a different sketchbook from his desk and stretching out on the sofa, thinking up a new series of panels.  

~ x ~

After about an hour, Merlin is pulled out of his work by a whoop from Arthur at the laptop.

“You found Leon?” Merlin asks, sitting up in anticipation. It’s too soon, though. Merlin hasn’t even looked at the financial section of the paper, let alone learned French.  

Arthur rolls his eyes. “No. I found Percival. He works at Platinum gym, and we’re going to go work out.”

“What?” Merlin is sort of relieved it’s not Leon yet, but then he’s also disturbed. “Wait, weren’t you listening to me earlier? The gym was the problem. I do not belong in a gym.”

Arthur tilts his head, frowning. “Do you want a second chance with Mr. Tree-Trunk-Arms or not?”

“I suppose. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”  

~ x ~

The afternoon finds Merlin and Arthur in the main workout room at Platinum, a huge, expensive gym populated by bulky guys and toned women without an ounce of fat on them.

“Arthur, are you sure this was a good idea?” Merlin whispers. “I feel so stupid.”

“Well, no one told you to wear wristbands, Merlin,” Arthur drawls.    

“Are they that bad? I thought they made my arms look bigger.” Merlin holds his arms out in front of him, eyeing the terrycloth fabric on his wrists.   

“Huge,” Arthur mocks, and Merlin punches him. Arthur stumbles back, clutching his arm as if Merlin’s done real damage. “Ow, Merlin, put those guns away! They’re dangerous!” he laughs.

“Shut up,” Merlin says, shoving him more gently.

Meanwhile, Arthur looks almost too pretty for this gym, but otherwise he fits in. His sleeveless fitted shirt is made of the same space-age fabric as everyone else’s, and his shorts show off his ridiculously shapely legs, all tanned with inviting, soft-looking blond hair dusting them.

Merlin could happily lick his way from those ankles, up the rounded calves, to the insides of those muscular thighs and even further. He wonders what kinds of sounds Arthur would make if Merlin licked at his bollocks, playing with the sprinkling of hair on them that Merlin is sure is there. He aches—for a second—to find out.

Then he remembers that Arthur is a pig who just happens to be helping him in his quest to find an actually decent guy. He shakes off his sex reveriere and turns his attention to the gym. “I don’t see him,” he says.  

Arthur walks over to a machine with far too many levers for Merlin’s comfort.

“What are you doing?” Merlin hisses.

“Working out, Merlin. You can’t exactly just stand there staring at everyone like some pervert,” Arthur says, adjusting pins in the stacks of weights.  

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

“So sit down,” Arthur says.

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever done a leg press? Come on, sit down.”

“No—you sit down! I don’t know what I’m doing!” Merlin really doesn’t want to be making a fool of himself—more of a fool of himself—if Percy walks by.  

“Alright. Do you think you’ll be able to stand here, looking like you fit in, while I work out?” Arthur challenges.

Merlin sneers. “Fair point.” He sits down in defeat, and Arthur adjusts another few settings that Merlin is sure must just be for show. Still, he’s not looking forward to whatever is supposed to happen once Arthur’s done.

“There,” Arthur says. “Try that.”

“Try what?”

“Try pushing your feet against that plate!”  

Abruptly, a large man in a tank top is stepping over to them from another machine. “Are you gentlemen alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Arthur says. “Thanks.”

The man eyes the two of them suspiciously but decides to leaves them alone.

Arthur seems unconcerned. “Now just push your legs out, Merlin,” he says. “You can do this.”

Merlin glares at Arthur, then looks at his legs, perched ludicrously on display. His feet are propped up on the machine, and his legs look long and skinny and too white, made all the more obvious by the dark hair on them.

He hates the gym.

“I look ridiculous,” he says finally.

“You haven’t even done anything yet.”   

“I’m talking about my legs.”

“Your legs? Your legs look fine. They look good. Relax.”

“Right,” Merlin says, deciding he better just get this over with. He grits his teeth and holds his breath as he pushes with his legs enough to make the weights on the end of the pulley lift up. “Okay,” he says, once he’s lowered them again. “What next?”

Arthur laughs, loud—too loudly, probably for their environment, but it’s a lovely laugh, and it makes Merlin feel better. He decides that maybe he can do a few more of these leg-press things after all.

Once Merlin’s done his not altogether absurd reps, Arthur has his turn on the machine. Merlin notes that Arthur’s movement are so graceful and fluid that it’s infuriating. Merlin rolls his eyes and scans the gym. Still no sign of Percy.

“What should we do? I don’t think he’s here.”

Arthur finishes his reps and wipes the machine down. “We can come back tomorrow if you want.”

Merlin doesn’t want. He definitely doesn’t want. “Let’s give it a little longer. Maybe we should split up. This is a big gym.”

Arthur eyes Merlin skeptically. “You sure you want to try to work out alone?”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll just stay off of these contraptions.”

“That seems wise. But what will you do instead?  Maybe the free weights? You can handle that, right?”

“Of course I can handle that,” Merlin scoffs, hoping he actually can. “When we leave here, though, I’m eating my weight in butter.”

Merlin heads to a far corner where there is a vast assortment of weights and other equipment. He walks over to something that looks like a little ball, and, curious, picks it up. To his body’s utter surprise, it’s enormously heavy, and he stumbles backwards as he hoists it to waist level.

He’s not exactly sure what one would do with this thing. He looks around, but no one else seems to be using one, so he starts swaying, swinging it from left to right. He honestly can’t even imagine why anyone would even make a heavy little ball like this. The answer must be obvious to the muscleman next to him, though, based on the increasingly odd looks he’s getting. He puts the ball down.

He looks around again, and this time discovers—to his simultaneous relief and horror—that Percival is indeed there, and his nerves take over.

He wants to look cool, or at least busy, and he grabs two balls with weird metal handles from a rack. Their weight is astonishing, and it sends Merlin whirling backwards, trying to regain his balance. He’s saved by a pair of strong arms scooping him up from behind.

“Merlin, are you alright?” he hears in his ear, and he realises it’s Arthur who’s caught him. “Put the kettleballs down.” Merlin drops the heavy objects dangling from his hands, ready to respond to anything Arthur says while he’s holding him like this, his breath hot on his neck.

The kettleballs have made a thud, though, even on the cushioned mat.

“Merlin?” comes another voice from several feet away.

It’s Percival, of course, coming towards them.  

“Percy!” Merlin says, scrambling out of Arthur’s grasp. “Hi! Imagine seeing you here!”

“Imagine,” Arthur teases under his breath.

“Shut up,” Merlin grits back through a smile.    

Percival reaches them, looking pleased, at least to see Merlin. “Yeah! I thought you hated the gym!” he says.  

“So did I!”   

“And who’s this?” Percy says, holding a hand out to Arthur.

“This is Arthur, my—” Merlin looks Arthur over, unsure what to say about him. “—trainer.”

Arthur and Percy look at Merlin, both with eyebrows raised.

“Your trainer?” Percy says.

“Yeah.”

“Hi. Arthur,” Arthur says, taking Percival’s hand in a strong handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Did you just take Merlin on? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Oh, no. This is more of an informal arrangement,” Arthur explains.

“Well, you should keep better watch on him. He shouldn’t be left alone with equipment he doesn’t know how to use.”

“I know how to use it Percy,” Merlin cuts in. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“Merlin! You know how seriously you should take these things. You could’ve hurt yourself, or someone else.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” He needs to turn the conversation in a better direction. “Anyway, you look good! How’ve you been?”

Percival looks between Merlin and Arthur, his brow still furrowed. “I’ve been good. I’m senior trainer here now.”

“Oh—congratulations!”

“Thanks. Part of that means I ensure the safety of everyone here, Merlin. Let me get you a session with a proper trainer, someone who specialises in beginners.”

“No, Perce, really—”

“No, I insist! You need someone who’s with you at all times until you get your form right on every piece of equipment.” He casts a disapproving look at Arthur.  

Arthur just shrugs, but Merlin is unaccountably offended.  

“Arthur _is_ a proper trainer and—”

“Well, technically—” Arthur begins.

“—and I’ll be just fine sticking with him. It was nice to see you, Percival.”

Merlin goes to walk away, but Percival stops him. “You, too, Merlin, but I’ll really have to assign you to someone if you’re going to work out here. This all should have been explained to you when you signed up.”

“Oh, I’m not signed up. This was just my trial session. And actually, we were just finishing up.” He grabs Arthur’s arm and pulls him towards the locker room.  

“Nice meeting you!” Arthur calls back, as if their whole interaction hadn’t just been Percival scolding them.

 

 

“You said you knew what you were doing with the free weights!” Arthur scoffs once they’re outside.

“I did! Those weren’t free weights—they were torture devices. Who would want balls that heavy?”

Arthur laughs again, his eyes bright in the sunlight. There is the faintest sheen of sweat on his neck and forehead, and Merlin hates how much he likes the look of it.

It’s really not good that he’s left the gym more interested in his slag of a neighbour than in what had been a viable ex.

On the other hand, he’ll consider himself lucky if he never hears Percival talk to him about his fitness failures ever again.  

Arthur is watching him, an unreadable smile on his face. “C’mon,” he says. “I’ll race you home.” He takes off running before Merlin can say no.

Merlin rolls his eyes and looks up at the sky, his hands on his hips. He thinks about not running, about just letting Arthur hurry the mile home all by himself.

Then Arthur calls back, “First one home gets all the beer in your fridge!,” and Merlin takes off after him.

“Arthur, don’t you dare!”     

~ x ~

 

That evening, they’re on Merlin’s sofa, drinking beer, eating pizza, and watching whatever action film is on the telly.

“I take it Percival is off the list?” Arthur asks, polishing off his first slice.

“Definitely,” Merlin says through a mouthful of pizza. “I can’t compromise my decadent lifestyle, even for true love.”   

Arthur laughs. “Fair enough. To be honest, I can’t imagine you with that guy at all.”

“What do you mean?”

Arthur turns to Merlin and puts his slice down. His eyes rake over Merlin’s face, and Merlin feels like they’re sitting too close all of a sudden.

“Merlin, your lips are shining with more pizza grease than I’ve ever seen. I doubt Percival would see the appeal.”

The criticism surprises Merlin, and he grabs a napkin as he puts his plate down. “Sorry,” he says, annoyed.

“No—I didn’t mean there was no appeal. Just that he wouldn’t see it.”

Merlin looks back at Arthur, unsure what to say. Arthur’s flirting is usually harmless, crass and dismissable, but this feels different with Arthur’s eyes on him, the faint light and sound from the movie somehow distant now.    

“Well, needless to say,” Merlin says, aiming for natural instead of nervous, but probably missing the mark, “any pizza I had when I was with him, I had when I wasn’t with him.”

“I figured.” Merlin takes another bite, trying to ignore the heat of Arthur’s gaze. He licks his lips, too aware now of the greasy effect, and Arthur leans in a few inches. Merlin wonders when their bodies had angled themselves towards each other instead of towards the screen, and why he can’t breathe very easily. “He doesn’t know what he was missing out on. I’d insist on pizza night once a week, at least.”

Arthur’s leer, his low voice, tease at Merlin’s cock like foreplay. He’s been low-key aroused on and off all day. This is so different from the crap suggestions he usually gets when guys seem to notice his mouth. It’s like Arthur wants to _kiss_ him, which right now is hotter, somehow, than wanting to fuck him.

As if reading Merlin’s mind, Arthur moves closer, eyes laser-focused on Merlin’s lips. Merlin feels like a deer in headlights. He can’t tell, though, whether the headlights are part of a wet dream or an oncoming lorry.

Arthur pauses, his eyes flicking up to Merlin’s, then back. The brief flash of those usually sky blue eyes, now dark with desire and a confusing, enticing sincerity, tips Merlin’s desire, and he takes a shallow breath, ready for the kiss.

Just as Arthur is closing the final distance between them, Merlin’s mobile goes off, startling him, though he doesn’t back away. Arthur is like a magnet Merlin can’t quite pull away from.

The phone rings a second time, and neither of them moves.

Merlin tries to think about the situation, about what he’ll tell whoever is on the phone. He knows he should be glad they’ve been interrupted before they’ve really begun, but his body is keening for them to keep going.

When the phone rings a third time, Arthur leans in gently. He mouths a kiss into the corner of Merlin’s mouth, and it’s the sexiest thing Merlin has ever experienced. Merlin’s eyes flutter shut as he feels an ever-so-slight swipe of Arthur’s tongue against his lower lip, slow and delicious.  

His cock gives another interested twitch, and Merlin takes in a breath, knowing he’ll be fully hard in a minute. It’s too much, and he jumps up to answer the phone before a single other thing can happen.  

“Hello?” he says, way too anxiously.

 _“Merlin?”_ Gwen says at the other end of the line.

“Gwen! Hi! What’s up?”

 _“Nothing,”_ she says. _“Is this a bad time?”_

“No, no, I was just . . .” He scans the room around him. “Having dinner.”

He chances a glance at Arthur, who slumps back against the cushions, head tilted and expression amused, which is actually infuriating. He must hear Merlin’s heart pounding, and he’s completely unaffected. For him, this must just be another night, another snog, the wanker.  

_“Okay. You sound a little out of breath, though. Is everything alright?”_

“Yeah, yeah, I just . . . something went down the wrong pipe.” He raises a hand to his forehead.  

“ _Have some water,”_ Gwen advises. _“Anyway, I was just calling to see if you could cover for me in the morning. I’m going to be a little late to work because I’m seeing Lance off at the airport.”_

“Of course,” he says. “No problem.”

That’s right: work, in the morning, normal life, no complicated neighbour sex, especially with Arthur, who probably has someone waiting in the hallway in case Merlin doesn’t put out.

 _“Great! Thanks! I’ll owe you one,”_ she says.

“Don’t mention it. Tell Lance I said to have a good trip.”

_“I will! Bye, Merlin!”_

“Bye.”

He turns off the phone and puts it in his pocket, hoping to adjust himself at the same time without being too obvious.  

When he turns and looks at Arthur again, Arthur’s smirk is even wider, and Merlin resolves to nip this in the bud right now. He really doesn’t want a one-night stand, no matter what his dick is saying.

“Look,” he starts, not sitting back down. “I know you’re not used to talking to someone for more than an hour without sleeping with them, but that is not happening here.”

“First of all, that’s not true,” Arthur says. “And secondly, it _was_ happening, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Well, then good thing Gwen called, because it shouldn’t be,” Merlin argues.

“Alright, alright,” Arthur says. “I’m sorry if I pushed.”

He hadn’t really, and Merlin can still feel Arthur’s mouth on his, still wants it there.  

“Don’t—don’t worry about it. Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t help it that you’re incredibly attractive.”

“God! You’re like Cinderella, needing a shag before midnight or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

Arthur laughs. “That’s not quite how that story goes, but fair enough. Can I at least finish my pizza before you kick me out, all broken-hearted?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Fine. But from now on, get your pizza grease directly from the pizza, like everyone else.” He sits down opposite Arthur this time, intent on staying there.

Arthur’s smile widens. “I can do that.” He pulls another slice from the box and ogles it perversely in his hand. He sinks down dramatically into a bite, humming and moaning around the cheese as grease drips from a corner of his mouth.

Merlin laughs at the ridiculous display. He balls up a napkin and throws it at Arthur and his latest conquest. “Prat,” he says, and then tucks back in to his own dinner, staying far away from Arthur for the rest of the evening, and swearing inwardly that he will definitely never sit so close to him again.

~ x ~ 

The next week goes by quickly, with Arthur texting Merlin occasionally with questions about his exes and stopping by twice to update Merlin on his research. When he’s there, Merlin notices him doing little things, like checking if the plants need watering. It’s odd but nice, and Merlin figures that while Arthur doesn’t seem to have a job to speak of, it’s not because he’s lazy or disinclined to be useful. Someday he’ll have to ask what Arthur does for money.

By Thursday, Arthur seems eager to get away from the computer and help Merlin try his luck with another ex. When Merlin comes in from work, Arthur has dinner cooking— _dinner!_ —and a plan to put into action. “Merlin! How was work?”

Merlin is not ready for such an assault immediately upon arrival. He takes off his messenger bag and looks at the pots and pans bubbling on the cooker. “Science experiment?”

Arthur beams at him in response. “Dinner! I made that mushroom recipe you said you liked.”

“I said I liked a mushroom dish my _mother_ used to make.”

“Well, I improvised. If you don’t like it we can get chips or something on our way to the bar.”

“The bar? I’ve just got home. Maybe I’ve had a shit day and just want to curl up in front of the telly. Did you even consider that?”

Arthur stops stirring. “Did you have a shit day?”

“Well, no. But what if I did? You’re very presumptuous.”

Arthur smiles and resumes his dinner preparations. “True. I guess I presumed you’d be interested in going to see Gilli Reynolds on the one night when I know where he’ll be.”

“Gilli? You found Gilli?” Merlin says, all irritation forgotten. He hurries to his bedroom to get out of his work clothes and ready for the night.

“I only knew him for a short while,” he calls from the bedroom. “He seemed so dark and mysterious. It was really alluring. And in bed he was really . . . ” He remembers Gilli’s sultry kisses, how he’d go over every inch of Merlin’s body with his mouth and hands—almost like a dermatological exam, but sexy.

“Really . . . ?” Arthur prompts from the kitchen.

“Attentive,” Merlin decides.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He’s put on a fitted jumper and jeans, his hair is fluffy and mussed from the day, and his eyes look unusually blue. He hopes to look good when he sees Gilli. Merlin remembers feeling uncomfortable sometimes, when Gilli focused on him with surprising intensity. He’s particularly glad, then, to be more or less fine with his reflection.

When he steps back into the main room, Arthur is placing two plates on the table. He’s even wearing an apron that says _Whip It Good_ , which Merlin somehow hadn’t noticed before. “Smells delicious,” Merlin says.

 

 

Arthur looks up, and Merlin feels the seconds tick by as he lets Arthur assess him.

When Arthur doesn’t say anything, Merlin twirls, as if to show himself off from all angles. He can laugh it off this way if Arthur mocks him, having presented himself like a teenager about to go to his first school dance, fishing for a compliment.

“Not bad,” Arthur says, though. “Especially for someone who had a shit day and just wants to curl up in front of the telly.”

“Shut up,” Merlin grouses, but his grin is too wide for him to seem actually annoyed. He hurries to the table, unable to hide how hungry he is and how good the food looks.  

“Hold on,” Arthur says, placing a hand on Merlin’s chest before he can sit down. “We don’t want to ruin this outfit with my mushroom surprise.” He unties the apron and takes it off. Merlin stands like a confused statue as Arthur brings the halter of the apron over Merlin’s head, tightening the strings at the back of his neck, then smoothing the fabric over his chest. He manhandles Merlin to about-face so he can grab the waist ties.

Merlin is slow to process the unexpected physical contact, the fingers on his neck, the hands on his chest, and now, his hips.

He feels too warm all of a sudden, and remembers their almost-kiss on Sunday.  

“All right, all right,” he says, batting Arthur’s hands away. “I can do it.” He ties the waist strings and sits, not daring to look at Arthur and hoping his blush fades quickly.

He clears his throat, ready to get back to business. “So where are we going?”

Arthur sits down opposite and digs into his plate of noodles and mushrooms. “Charity event. Something to do with animals. I’m not sure exactly, in case that matters.”

Merlin considers. “Not really. Can’t be too bad, whatever it is. How’d you find out about it anyway? That Gilli will be there, I mean.”

“He RSVP’d to a Facebook event.”

“Oh, good idea, looking at his Facebook. I deleted my account ages ago,” Merlin says, readying another forkful of noodles that he’ll never admit are better than his mother’s. “Wouldn’t even have occurred to me.”

Arthur pauses. “It’s possible you reactivated it recently.”

“I what?”

“Relax! It’s not like I told the internet things it didn’t already know about you. Besides, this way you could RSVP, too, so you didn’t look like some crackpot who just wanders into charity events.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you also an official attendee?”

“Me? No way. I don’t want to be put on their mailing lists.”

“Arthur!”

“Oi! What’s a little junk mail when it might lead to true love?”

Merlin shakes his head, biting his tongue. As much as he hates junk mail, he can’t fault Arthur’s logic.  

~ x ~

The event space is more of a cavernous hall than a bar, and Merlin is ready to chide Arthur for false advertising, but really it’s too late to do anything about it.

The room is fairly large, accommodating four cases on pedestals draped mysteriously in sheets, presumably for some later presentation. While there are a decent number of people milling about and drinks on hand, the mood seems a bit dour, with people clustered together in groups, talking in low voices. The lighting isn’t great, which might have something to do with the overall drabness, but that also might be a good thing, since Gilli is so prone to scrutinise.

Merlin is relieved when a waiter walks by with glasses of wine on offer. “Finally,” Arthur says, as they each grab a glass from the tray.  

“So what do you think is under those sheets?” Merlin asks, gesturing towards the cases.

“‘Under the sheets’ is a speciality of mine, Merlin. But not even I would hazard a guess about these,” Arthur says.

“I know. Is it just me, or is this the bleakest charity event in history?” Merlin takes a decent gulp of his wine, making sure not to lose sight of the waiter.

“It’s like we’re in a bedecked cave. I feel bad for whatever animals they’re trying to save. Their prospects don’t look good.”

“Are you sure we have the right venue?”

“Yup.” Arthur says, then empties his glass in several large gulps. Merlin follows his lead.

“Okay, let’s follow the waiter, get more wine, and if Gilli isn’t here by the time we’re finished with two more glasses, we’ll go.”

“I would’ve said one more, but okay.”

“Please. I’m sure you could find someone to pull here, no matter how dire it seems.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Arthur says, one corner of his mouth quirking, but not quite enough for a smile. “Come on, let’s get that wine.”

Mid-way through their next glass, and stationed with a good view of the door, Merlin spots Gilli walking in. “That’s him,” he whispers, nudging Arthur with his elbow more violently than he means to.

“Very subtle, Merlin. Which one?”

“In the black jacket and dark jeans, he’s got dark hair—over there.”

“That doesn’t really help. You’ve just described half the people here.”

“Well, he’s the one I’m gonna go talk to. That’ll clear it up.” He nods decisively and marches off towards the front of the hall.

“Gilli! Fancy seeing you here!” he opens with.  

Gilli takes a step back and looks confusedly at Merlin. “Erm, hi?” he says.

“Merlin! It’s Merlin, remember? From a few years ago?”

Gilli looks Merlin up and down. He takes the hand Merlin offers, then, after shaking it, twists it slightly, eyeballing Merlin’s arm from wrist to elbow. “Of course! Merlin!” he says. “How weird to see you here. I didn’t realise you were in the Animal Preservation Society.”

“Oh, yeah, long-time member,” Merlin says, cursing himself for the grandeur of the lie. He could’ve said he just joined.

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Yeah, erm, so anyway, how are you? How’ve you been?”

“Good, I guess. Nothing much new, except that I’ve got a piece in the show. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have a piece to show?”

Merlin looks at the cases draped in sheets, realising now that they must contain sculptures or something. “Oh, no, not this time. That’s great that you do, though.”

“Yeah. I’m so nervous about the reception, though.” Gilli starts walking towards the cases, and Merlin follows him.

“You want a glass of wine?” Merlin asks, hoping to get another for himself, too.

“No, no. Not till after the show. I want to be able to answer questions well afterwards. I’m hoping to get picked for the national competition.”

“The national . . .  sure, sure,” Merlin says. He eyes his nearly empty glass, wishing it would magically refill itself.

“So, how have you been? Did you come with anyone? I’ve never heard anyone here even mention you.”

“Oh—yeah. I came with—” He scans the room for Arthur, whom he spots chatting with a handsome, slightly older man. Never a lost opportunity, Merlin figures. “—erm, with my neighbour. He was interested in—.” He waves his hand around the room—“this. By the way, remind me again which animals specifically we’re hoping to preserve tonight?”

Gilli’s eyebrows furrow. “Small vertebrates,” he says, as if Merlin’s just asked what planet they’re on.

Merlin nods. “Of course.” Realising this is definitely a dead-end conversation topic, he tries to get back on track. “Anyway, are you? Seeing anyone? Or I mean, did you come here with anyone?”

“No, no. I’ve really been giving everything I have to this show tonight.”

“Oh, great! I mean—your piece must be fantastic then, with that much focus.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe afterwards, we could get a drink.”

Gilli looks around the room, perhaps considering. “Yeah, sure. If none of the board members want to talk to me, I guess I can get a drink with you. I might be really bummed, though, if they’re not impressed. This really means everything to me.”

“Great!” Merlin says, plastering on a smile, then dropping it. “I mean, great that we could do something, not that you might be depressed.”

Gilli squints at Merlin, then shakes his head. “Anyway, I want to make sure everything is set up properly before the presentations.”

“Of course, of course.” Merlin backs away, hoping those will be happening soon. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Instead of finding a waiter, he makes a beeline for the bar. He grabs another glass of wine and decides he’s not moving from there until absolutely necessary. He has never had less interest in socialising than he does right now.

Before long, Arthur joins him, looking well pleased with the evening. “Why so glum?”

“I’m not glum. I’m just not getting the phone numbers of half the people in the room.”

Arthur looks briefly at the ceiling. “Merlin, you really exaggerate my exploits, you know.”

“Well, how many then?”

“What?”

Merlin stares at him. “Phone numbers.”  

“Two—but it’s not like I asked for them.”

“What? That’s even worse! Why do I even bring you to these things?” Merlin scoffs. He’s made the most awkward overture ever to someone who at least _hopefully_ liked him _once_ , while Arthur can just strut around a room for ten minutes gathering admirers.

“Would you rather I wasn’t here?”

Merlin looks at his own shoes as he knocks the heel of one into the toe of the other. “No,” he admits.

“See? So cheer up then. Besides, we’re here to save the animals.”

Merlin shakes his head, then remembers his conversation with Gilli. “You know, about that—”

He’s cut off by an MC at the centre of the room announcing a welcome to the attendees.  

“Ladies and gentleman of the Animal Preservation Society,” the short, grey-bearded man begins. “Family, friends, and enthusiasts, welcome.”

“Enthusiasts?” Merlin whispers.

Arthur nudges him with an elbow. “ _Shh_.”  

“Thanks so much for coming tonight, especially as we have four new restorations to reveal. I know each of these artists is hoping to be included in our national competition. Let’s get right to it and present the specimens, so that the real excitement can begin. I know we’ll all be keen to analyse and discuss preservation techniques afterwards with these fine, skilled craftsmen.”

“Oh, god . . . ” Merlin says, a horrible realisation dawning on him. He looks at Arthur, who is pressing his lips together, clearly stifling a laugh. He _knows_ what’s coming.  

“First up, we have Martin Thornsworth, who has been a member of the society for four years, and come a very long way since his first somewhat disheveled racoon. Martin, if you will?” The MC gestures towards the man standing next to the first case.  

“Of course, sir. Thank you so much for inviting me to show my work tonight. This particular piece has taken me over six months to complete, and not a few missteps with this bird’s unfortunate forerunners.”

The crowd laughs politely, unlike the kind of laugh Arthur, shoulders shaking, is stifling. Merlin watches his cheeks turn a deep red, one hand covering his mouth. Merlin is turning red for a different reason.

He shakes his head at Arthur, reprimanding him with a glare for getting them into this mess. _False! Advertising!_ He knew it as soon as they walked in, yet he said nothing. He could kick himself.

“And so, I give you,” Martin Thornsworth continues, “my Eurasian nuthatch!” Martin pulls the sheet off of his case to reveal a small stuffed bird, and a burst of laughter erupts from Arthur. Luckily, it happens at the same time as a round of applause that covers his reaction, or so Merlin hopes.

Merlin doesn’t know whether to be more appalled at the kind of “preservation” going on or angry at Arthur for not telling him. Whatever combination of the two he’s managing to express doesn’t seem too effective. Arthur tries to say something through his laughter, a hand loosely covering his mouth, but Merlin just shakes him off. After all, the second _taxidermist_ is in the middle of presenting his carcass.

“. . . which is how I decided that a pair would make for a much more aesthetically interesting display. That way I could show not just the mouse in its ideal form, but how it might interact with its mate. Therefore, this isn’t just a preserved mouse, but a tableau. I give you, via this wonderful pair, insight into the life of a wood mouse!”  

Merlin can’t believe he’s at some sort of stuffed-mouse competition. Looking for a husband. He’s glad that he and Arthur are still at the bar, too far away to see much of anything, and for people to see much of them. He finds his anger dissipating, and Arthur’s laughter a little contagious.  

Gilli goes third, and Merlin tries to steady himself for the presentation in case Gilli spots him. The pride Gilli takes in his work is clear from the seriousness in his voice as he speaks about the bird he’s stuffed. “I have been working on a much rarer specimen than either of these,” he says. “Very difficult to find on land anywhere, much less in the U.K. I give you this rarest of vagrants, a Swinhoe's storm petrel.” He whips the sheet off of the case with a dramatic crack.  

The room goes silent, then is immediately filled with sounds of astonishment. “That’s incredible! I’ve never seen one of those before!” Merlin hears someone say.

Despite the macabre display, Gilli is starting to look better in Merlin’s eyes. At least he’s an impressive up-and-comer in his field. Merlin even manages not to think about what field that is for a moment or two.

Arthur sees him looking at Gilli and raises his glass in the air before taking a sip. Merlin isn’t sure if Arthur is being sarcastic or encouraging, but he drinks along with him, for strength if nothing else.

Finally, the fourth and last presenter is through with his opening remarks. After dispensing with some phrases in Latin and a few avian facts, he proclaims, “I give you my Great Tit!,” and pulls the sheet onto the floor, revealing a rather pretty yellow and black dead bird.

Merlin and Arthur can’t help but laugh together at that, just as the rest of the room breaks into resounding applause. Arthur’s face is flushed again, the tendons in his neck long and taut as his head falls back in laughter. Hilarity looks good on Arthur, but Merlin supposes there can’t be much that doesn’t.   

“That is the most formal presentation of a tit I’ve ever seen!” Arthur says.

Merlin raises an eyebrow, still grinning. “I take it you’ve never been with a great-titted exhibitionist before.”  

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Just think what the rest of the night might hold for you, if you play your cards right.”   

“Are you suggesting that I hook up with a taxidermist? Because you’d have to promise not to tell a single soul about it. Ever.”

Merlin sucks in his lower lip, half to keep from laughing more, half to consider Arthur’s question, since a taxidermist is sort of what Merlin’s hoping for. “Your secret will be safe with me, but if I hook up with one I might be telling quite a few people.”

Arthur casts him a confused look, then says, “Oh, right! On account of the wedding! Maybe you could get Martin Thornsworth to make mice-grooms for the top of your cake.”

“Doubtful. He was the first bird guy.”

“Oh, right. And anyway, if you want birds, I suppose Gilli can just kill and stuff a few for you.”

“Oh god. I really hope he doesn’t kill them.” Merlin hadn’t even thought of that.

“Does he seem like someone who would?”

“Erm . .” Merlin considers. “I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s encouraging.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. He _might_ not kill birds.”

“A ringing endorsement. So, what do you think? Are you going to make your move?”

Merlin scans the room, looking for Gilli again. He’s standing near his brown bird, talking with the MC and a few other people who seem deeply interested in whatever Gilli is saying. The other presenters are being comparatively ignored. Merlin would feel bad for them if the whole thing weren’t so creepy to begin with.

“You know, taxidermy aside, he’s not too bad,” Arthur says, also watching Gilli.  

“Would you stop liking my boyfriends? You’re not helping.”

“ _Ex_ -boyfriends,” Arthur corrects. “And anyway, all I meant was that in a different setting, he probably doesn’t look so depressing.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Thanks. Alright, I’m going to give it one more shot. If I don’t come back,  good luck with the Tit!”

Arthur almost spits up his drink. “Thanks,” he laughs.

Merlin walks over to Gilli and joins the outside of the circle huddled around him. His appearance somehow ends the moment they were all sharing. As two people part to let him in, the whole group seems to break off into paired conversations.

He feels bad for interrupting the attention Gilli was getting, had been hoping for, but Gilli doesn’t seem too bothered about it.

“Merlin!” he says with a smile that looks quite good on him, Merlin notes. Completely unexpectedly, he gives Merlin a hug. “Merlin! Can you believe it? They loved it! They invited me to show at nationals!”

“That’s great! I knew you’d do great. How could you not?”

“You think so? You only knew me for a few weeks.”

“Well, with all the time you put in, right?” Merlin says, hoping that’s good enough.

“Exactly! Let’s get that drink!”

This energetic Gilli is far better than Merlin was expecting. “Yes! We should celebrate! Where do you want to go?” Merlin looks back towards the bar. Arthur is leaning his back against it, looking like a model in a high-end gin advert.  

He huffs his amusement at Arthur’s ease and good looks as he nods a goodbye across the room. Arthur gives him a little salute in return, then turns around, probably to chat up the bartender.

Gilli has Merlin help him gather what he needs to take from the event—Merlin very carefully not looking at anything—and then they head out.

Once on the pavement, Gilli is almost skipping with excitement. He looks good in the lamplight, grinning at Merlin, and between the attention, the cool air, and the warmth of the wine, Merlin decides it’s been a pretty good night so far.

They go dancing, which is the last thing Merlin was expecting, but he’s glad of it, since he’s not confident about his taxidermy-related conversation skills.

Apparently, Gilli really has been deprived of all manner of distraction while preparing for the show. He soaks up the alcohol and the music more intensely than Merlin really can keep up with. He’s a serious guy, even in his celebrating. When he’s staring into Merlin’s eyes, swaying as their bodies press together in the packed club, Merlin is definitely turned on but also a little unnerved. Still, the night is going well, and he thinks he could get used to having someone stare at him like this, if it means something good.

Gilli’s already been a better dance partner than Mordred ever was, since he’s not flirting with other blokes at the same time. Their legs bend slightly to let them lean into each other harder, the friction of their groins against each other’s hips enough to keep them dancing for a long time, enjoying their increasing attraction.

By 1:30, both pissed and horny, they stumble up the stairs to Merlin’s flat. Their laughing and bumping into the walls must make even more noise than Merlin thinks, as Arthur is standing in his doorway when they approach the landing.

Gilli is behind Merlin, his hands roving over Merlin’s hips as he urges him up the stairs and onto the landing. Merlin smiles at Arthur, utterly chuffed to be the one pulling for once. “Sorry for the noise, Arthur. See you tomorrow,” he says, as he fumbles for his keys.

“Tomorrow,” Arthur says, sounding a little testy to have his night interrupted, and he steps back into his flat. The sound of his door closing is loud in Merlin’s ears, but he lets the echo fade from his mind as Gilli nuzzles wet kisses onto the back of his neck.  

When Merlin finally gets the door unlocked, they fall inside with a laugh, and immediately start pulling at each other’s belt buckles as the door swings shut.   

Merlin drags Gilli straight to his room, both with their trousers already open, and he flops them both onto the bed. The room tilts more than it should once he’s horizontal, but he doesn’t let it keep him from grabbing for Gilli’s cock inside his pants and tugging at it needily, while Gilli does the same to him. The messy handjobs they give each other seem just right for the sort of night they’ve had, and once they’ve come all over their hands and wiped themselves off with one of Merlin’s t-shirts, they pass out, smiling and spent.

 

  

The next morning, Merlin’s alarm goes off far earlier than he’d like. He grumbles and throws a hand onto the side table, smacking blindly at a snooze button. When he finally hits it, he heaves a sigh and turns over.

Gilli is there, and Merlin isn’t quite sure what to expect in the sober light of too-early-in-the-morning. Gilli is looking at him, too, but the alarm would’ve woken anyone, since Merlin has to set his to the most obnoxious noise possible to have any hope of it waking him.

“Hey,” Merlin says. It’s as good a start as any, he supposes.

“Hey. Thanks for letting me stay over. It was nice,” Gilli says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees. “It was.”

He’s not sure if he should lean over and give Gilli a kiss, get up, or even let himself drift off until the alarm sounds again. Trying to decide is enough to put him to sleep anyway.

When the alarm startles him awake a second time, he jumps, and realises Gilli’s been grazing his fingers up and down Merlin’s forearm.

“You know,” Gilli says, after Merlin’s turned off the alarm, “I don’t remember all that much about you, but I do remember these beautiful, long bones. Sorry—that probably sounds weird.”

“No, no! It’s, erm, nice to hear,” Merlin says, not knowing how one is meant to respond to skeletal compliments.

He gets out of bed and gets clean boxers from a drawer. He heads into the bathroom for a shower. “I’ll just be a minute. I need to leave for work in a half hour, though.”

“No problem. I’ll get coffee started, if you like.”

“Thanks—that’d be great,” Merlin says. Mordred never made offers like that. Things are already looking up.

Gilli has his clothes on from the night before when Merlin emerges in his trousers and button-down for work. He steps over to Merlin and hands him a cup of coffee, then puts his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin expects a kiss, but instead, Gilli just watches him. He runs a thumb over Merlin’s clavicle, then lets his hands slide out and over Merlin’s shoulders.

“This is nice,” he says again.

Merlin shifts his gaze and steps around Gilli. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, though I guess we haven’t really talked much—to catch up, I mean. I don’t even know what you do, apart from, you know, the erm, preservation stuff.”

Gilli smiles. “Well, that’s the most important thing. But why don’t we go out for dinner tonight? There’s a great Indian place near me.”

Merlin considers. He’s not exactly looking forward to more conversation with Gilli so soon, but it’d be nice to have plans for a Friday night, and the night before was certainly fun. They hardly spoke at the club, and a real date is the logical next step.

“Yeah, let’s do it. That sounds good.”  

“Great! I’ll text you the address.”

 

 

His hookup has obviously had some effect on him, as Gwen approaches him right away at work. “So,” she says. “You look happier than usual. I take it the stroll down ex-boyfriend lane has taken a good turn?”

“As a matter of fact it has, Gwen. I even have a second date tonight,” Merlin brags. It feels good to be able to say that someone wants to see him again.

“That’s great, Merlin! With who?”

“Gilli. Not sure you ever met him. We had a quick thing a few summers ago.”

“Hm. I don’t think I did. Maybe if there’s a third date, you can bring him round for drinks with us all.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Merlin says, though he has trouble picturing Gilli carousing with his friends or being amused by their usual antics.  

Later that morning, he gets a text from Arthur. _So how’d it go?_

Merlin smiles. _Pretty well! Second date tonight already._

The dots of Arthur’s typing float on Merlin’s screen for a few minutes, and then a message arrives. _Success, then. Where you going?_

_Somewhere near his. Hopefully I won’t be home tonight._

Another pause, then: _There’s a joke in there somewhere. Maybe about stuffing a cock?_

_Ha ha. You’re lucky you’re so good looking or no one would ever put up with you._

Arthur sends a wink emoji. _Is that why you put up with me?_

Merlin laughs.  _More like in spite of it._

~ x ~

The second date with Gilli, however, is a total disaster, and midnight finds Merlin walking the mile and a half back to his flat.

As he turns down his own street, he sees Arthur and another man walking a little ahead of him. The guy is pawing at Arthur, eager and physical. Arthur seems more reserved, his back straight and hands in his pockets, but he’s not hindering the guy’s advances.

Merlin steps into a doorway to wait, not wanting at all to catch up to them, but he can’t keep from watching them, even though he really doesn’t want to see any of it.

Just as they get near the door of their building, the bloke puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and moves in for a kiss. Arthur turns his face away before their lips meet, but the bloke just continues on, sucking a kiss onto Arthur’s cheek and then down to his neck. He walks Arthur back against the wall, and when Merlin sees the press of his hips into Arthur’s, he finally turns away, needing to get himself together.

Somehow, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Arthur would be pulling that night, let alone a man.

He realises now, with no small amount of self-derision, that he’d been looking forward to coming home and commiserating with Arthur about his awful night, but he should’ve known better. Arthur doesn’t live his life waiting to hear about Merlin’s attempts at rekindling failed romances. He’s a man primarily interested in shagging as many people as possible, and their friendship is based on nothing more than his helping Merlin with his ex-boyfriend search, while Merlin provides someplace comfortable for Arthur to avoid morning-after brush-offs.

When Arthur and his wall-humper finally go into the building, Merlin gives them several minutes to get up the stairs and into Arthur’s flat. The last thing he wants is to bump into them.

Eventually, he goes upstairs himself, hurrying past Arthur’s flat and into his own, turning on the telly to get something else—anything else—into his head. An infomercial about a salad spinner does the trick, mostly.

He tries to think about the best way to spend the night after failing with yet another ex and being reminded that he shouldn’t rely on Arthur to distract him from his predicament.

Leon. Leon is what will solve all of this. He puts his headphones on, opens up his French app, and starts repeating phrases when he’s prompted by the pedantic woman’s voice.

_Excusez-moi, où est l'arrêt de bus?_

_C’est à gauche._

_Où se trouve la station de métro la plus proche?_

_C’est à droite._

_Voulez-vous acheter un billet?_

_Oui, je voudrais un billet, s’il vous plaît._

 

 

The next morning, Merlin is not awoken by his alarm, but by the sound of his front door closing.

“Hello?” he rasps out, not bothering to get out of bed.

“Merlin?’ Arthur says, hurrying to the bedroom doorway and peeking his head in. “You’re here!”

Merlin squints at him. “Don’t sound so surprised. I do live here, you know.”

“Yes, but your big date and everything. I just thought . . . ”

“Oh, that. Ugh. I can’t even believe I was considering a relationship with him.”  

“Why? What happened?” Arthur says, flopping down on the bed next to Merlin.

Merlin eyes him, annoyed. “You can’t just hop out of bed with one bloke and into another’s—mine specifically. Get off,” he says, and shoves at Arthur.

Arthur looks surprised. “What? How did you know I . . .?  Anyway, _you_ were in some guy’s bed last night. Besides, I’m just sitting here. My motives are pure, I swear,” he says, his hands raised in supplication. “Tell me what happened.”

“Ugh, fine,” Merlin says, rearranging a pillow behind his head. “Things were going well enough, I guess, during dinner. I mean, I said some truly idiotic things about stuffing a turkey, but he didn’t seem to notice.”

“Okay,” Arthur chuckles. “And then?” He settles in, leaning his back against the headboard. Merlin doesn’t want to look at Arthur’s crotch, which is at his eye level, or his hips, or his t-shirt thinly covering the curve of his stomach, or even the muscled arms crossed over his chest. He sighs and focuses on the ceiling.

“And then we went back to his flat, which I was all for. Would’ve been even better than the night before, when we were too drunk for anything much.

“Anyway, he opens the door and leads me inside, but it’s dark, and I’m not exactly focused on his interior decorating, you know? He tells me to make myself comfortable, though, while he gets us drinks. But when he turns the lights on, I see nothing but eyes, _everywhere_.”

Arthur laughs, his knees coming up, ready for full-on amusement.

Merlin just shakes his head, but he’s starting to crack, just like he had at the time. “Arthur, he’s probably stuffed half the vermin in London. They’re all there, just _looking_ at you. I was so creeped out.”

“Cramp your style, did it?”

“Are you kidding me? He tried to pick up where we left off, which was the last thing I was ready to do, so I asked if we could go to the bedroom. I figured it’d be better in there.”

“Oh, I could’ve told you _that_ wouldn’t be the case,” Arthur says with emphasis.

“Well, unfortunately, you weren’t there. So we ended up on the bed, and he’s still trying to go at it—like he doesn’t even notice the menagerie of horror around us!”

“I guess your cover was blown as a dead animal lover, then.”

“I’ll say. I don’t know how he hooks up with anyone with those carcasses all over the room.”

“Maybe that’s the secret to his singlehood,” Arthur suggests with a laugh.

Feeling his gaze on him, Merlin looks up at Arthur, and he notes, a little bittersweetly, how they’re sharing a smile.  

“C’mon,” Arthur finally says, slapping Merlin’s thigh. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“I’ll buy myself breakfast, Casanova, but yeah, let’s get out of here.”

~ x ~

Over breakfast—Arthur with a full English, Merlin French toast (an implicit nod to Leon), Arthur invites Merlin to reconsider the whole endeavour.

“I just don’t get it. Haven’t you seen enough of these guys to realise going backwards is not the answer?”

Merlin stabs a berry on his plate and pops it in his mouth. “No, Arthur. Despite things not yet clicking with someone, the point is not only that they can, but they should, since I stand the best chance of a long-term relationship with one of them.”

“But what if your past, like everyone else’s, is full of mistakes, and you’re a different person now than you were when you were trying to pretend to be a nutrition freak, or a polyamorist, or . . . whatever life-long charade you were about to go through to be with Gilli.”

“But I’m _not_ that different. And if I am, it’s for the worse. I need to be more open to things, not less. The right guy will make me a _better_ me, instead of someone who lies around drawing the same dumb comics and going to a boring desk job every day, whose most useful purpose in life is providing a comfortable hideout for his sleazy neighbour.”

“You think I’m sleazy?” Arthur asks, focusing suddenly on his food.

Merlin sneers. “No, though I can’t imagine why not.”

Arthur looks up and smiles. “Because I’m not, that’s why. There’s nothing wrong with casual sex, and trust me, no one is expecting some nonsense romance when they hook up with me.”

Merlin pushes his plate away, his breakfast only half finished. “If romance is nonsense, why are you helping me?”

“Because there’s also nothing wrong with wanting love, Merlin. I think you’re looking for it in the wrong places, but you’re a good guy, and if you want love, you should have it.”

It’s a nicer answer than Merlin expected, but it’s still not satisfying. “Do you think other people should have love?”

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Other people. Like, say, the guy you fucked last night. He’s probably still in your bed, waiting for another go, or at least for you to come back with coffee.”

Arthur’s face flushes, and he keeps poking around on his plate. “I thought you were out.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Arthur shrugs. “I thought maybe I’d have a bit of what you were having, since your night seemed sorted.” He sounds oddly irritated.  

“That’s lovely. You’d taken care of your charity-case neighbour and could finally get back to what you’d really like to be doing—fucking your way through all of London, one poor sod at a time. Maybe I’ll bring that guy back some consolation coffee myself.”

“Merlin, what is your problem? That guy was nothing.”

“Only to you.”

“Why do you care?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to!”

“You don’t want to? What kind of petulant shit is that?”

Arthur puts his fork down. “Merlin, we’re not here to solve my relationship problems—of which I have none, by the way, so why don’t you stop acting like you’re somehow better than me? I don’t deceive anyone. I tell them I’m only interested in a shag. You tell them you’re a taxidermist!”

“You tell them I’m your dentist!”

There’s a pause, and then Merlin snorts a laugh, despite himself. It makes Arthur smile in return, but it’s small and hesitant, and Merlin feels a little guilty all of a sudden. It’s not like Arthur hasn’t made a point or two.

“Alright. Fair enough,” Merlin says, his voice calmer. “We’re obviously just into totally different things, and I shouldn’t judge you so much.”

“Not _so_ much, at least.”

“No, not _so_ much. But you are a bit of a prick.”

“I can live with that,” Arthur says, letting his smile grow. He swipes his last bit of yolk-soaked toast across his plate, stuffs it in his mouth, and licks his fingers clean. “Ready?”    

“Yeah. I need to meet up with Gwen soon anyway. I told her I’d taste cakes with her this afternoon.”

~ x ~

Merlin meets Gwen about two hours later at a bakery that Elena had recommended. Why Elena couldn’t accompany Gwen on this little expedition, Merlin isn’t sure, but he doesn’t mind helping out. He hasn’t seen much of Gwen outside of work since her whirlwind romance with Lance began, and especially since the engagement.

“I do appreciate you helping me with this, Merlin,” Gwen says, squeezing his arm and biting her lip in excitement. Merlin doesn’t have quite the same level of enthusiasm, but then again, it’s not his wedding. Hell, he doesn’t even have a date for it.

“No problem. Who doesn’t like eating a bit of cake?”

Thirty minutes later, “a bit of cake” has taken on a whole new meaning. They’ve sampled six different sponges, four buttercreams, and a seemingly infinite number of layered fillings, all in various combinations.

“They’re all so good, Merlin, I just don’t know!”

“Decision making was never our strong suit. Why didn’t you bring Elena for this?”

“You know her,” Gwen says, eyeing the table of cake samples critically. “She’s never met a sponge she didn’t like.”

“True. What about Lance?”

“He’s away this weekend, and I’ve already put this off too long.”

“Well, what are his favourite flavours?” Merlin asks, hoping this other-people’s-preferences tack will give them new clarity.

Gwen sighs. “He’s not really one for dessert.”

“Oh. Well, you always love lemon. And this lemon and lavender one was amazing.”

“Yes, but that seems so particular. How many people will also like that?”

“Does it matter? It’s your wedding.”

“Of course it matters! I want everyone there to have a brilliant time, including you, by the way.”  

“If I’m who you’re trying to please, you should go with the devil’s food cake. That one’s so good I might forget I’m by myself—at least during dessert.”

“Merlin, I’m being serious. I wish you didn’t feel like you had to bring someone to have a good time. Too bad things didn’t work out with Gilli.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

He’d like to change the topic, as he’s had very much enough of it for one day already. “Look, I’ll work something out, even if I have to pay someone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. Why don’t you take this neighbour who’s been helping you? He doesn’t sound so bad, especially if he’s as easy on the eyes as you say he is.”

Merlin huffs. The thought has occurred to him, truth be told, but he doesn’t trust himself at a wedding with Arthur, and if anything happened, he’d be looking for a new flat the next day.

“Oh, god. I’d rather bring Mrs. Nisbey from accounting.”

Gwen laughs, a pretty trill of a sound that always brightens Merlin’s mood. “She’d be shocked at the invite, but might say yes.”   

Merlin smiles. “Maybe it’s worth asking, just to see.”

“Alright,” Gwen says with new focus. “Back to this cake decision. Should we flip a coin? Best two out of three?”

“Probably not a good idea, Gwen. Remember we did that with drinks once and ended up ordering those ‘Bath Cures’?”

“Oh my god! They had about six kinds of rum in them,” Gwen laughs, remembering.

“And brandy and some kind of juice mix. Among other things. It didn’t end well.”

“No—we ended up back in your suite arguing about which of us would’ve hooked up with that bloke we were chatting up, if we hadn’t gotten sick all over the pub floor. Oh, my god, that was so funny!”

“Not at the time, Gwen!” Merlin laughs.

“Even at the time.”

“Okay, yeah. Even then. But it hurt all of my body parts to laugh, so I had to go with melodrama.”

“Oh, Merlin. I’m so glad you’re here with me, and will be part of the wedding. And, you’ll be shocked to learn that I’ve now decided what kind of cake I’m ordering.”

“Really? No—you’re having me on,” Merlin says, his head tilted in doubt.

“Nope. Excuse me?” she calls to the bakery assistant. “I’d like to order a two-tiered cake, please. The top tier should be lemon-lavender, and the bottom devil’s food, in honour of the best best friend anyone could ever have,” she says, smiling at Merlin with that nostalgic air still in her voice.

“Gwen!” Merlin protests.

“Don’t argue. I love you, Merlin.”

“Maybe, but you also love devil’s food cake.”

“True,” she says, laughing. “But don’t belittle my big gesture!”  

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Thanks, Gwen.”

~ x ~

Merlin avoids his flat for the rest of that day and evening. He needs some distance from Arthur and whatever Arthur might be doing. He ends up going out with Will, Freya, Elena and Mithian for drinks, and it’s nice to be reminded that he has other people in his life who care, and he really doesn’t need some perfect boyfriend to love him forever. It’s nice, but because they are all paired off, it still makes him a little sad as he heads home.

Arthur’s flat is quiet as Merlin passes it on the landing, and Merlin wonders if maybe he hasn’t pulled, or if he went to the other person’s flat for once.

He goes into his own flat, turns on the telly, and falls asleep on the sofa, content with the screen for company as he drifts off.

~ x ~

The next morning, Merlin is surprised to get up and not find Arthur in his flat. He actually has time to get ready by himself and enjoy his morning.

When Arthur does stroll in, it’s 11 AM.

“You like this one?” Merlin says by way of greeting.

“What? Oh, no—nothing like that. I’ve been out all morning running errands and setting up your next accidental date.”

“What?” Merlin says. “If it’s not Leon, I think I don’t want to know.”

“It’s not Leon—although I did find out that he’s in Japan on a business trip, so unless you’re willing to fly there . . . ”

“No,” Merlin says, defeated. “I hope this doesn’t mean I have to learn Japanese, too.”

Arthur laughs. “Well, if today goes well, you won’t even have to keep up those half-arsed French lessons you’ve been doing.”

“Fine. Who’ve you got?”

“Daegal Anderson.”

“Daegal . . . ” Merlin says, thinking back to the first-year at uni who had a huge crush on Merlin when he was in his last year. The kid was cute—adorable, really—and it was nice to be mooned over a little, but Merlin could never get over the age difference. Daegal had just seemed so very young and innocent.

Nine years would certainly change that.

“Okay, Daegal. How do I meet him?”

“With a dog. He co-owns a dog walking business, and he’ll be at the park this afternoon.”

“What? Where am I going to get a dog?”

“It’s all sorted, I told you! Alice in 2C is going to lend us Monty.”

“That mean little creature that growls every time it sees me?”

Arthur winces, his expression somewhere between apology and amusement. “That one, yeah.”

Merlin crosses his arms, hoping to look stern. “No.”

“It’ll be fine, Merlin. All you and Monty need is a little bonding time and you’ll be best mates by the time we run into Daegal.”

“I highly doubt that, but what else was I going to do today.”

~ x ~

By 2 o’clock, Monty has bit Merlin’s ankle twice, and he growls and jumps and barks angrily every time Merlin takes the leash instead of Arthur.

“This is ridiculous! He’ll never believe this is my dog!”

“Nonsense. You just have to chat long enough to exchange numbers or plan to meet later or something. It’s easy.”

“Easy for you.”

“You want me to ask him for his number?” Arthur teases.

“Shut up and give me the stupid leash,” Merlin says, and starts charging off toward the main path, Monty leaping and growling in protest the whole way.

He only gets a few steps before two blokes walking a pack of dogs round the bend, coming towards them. One is Daegal, for sure, and he’s holding the other guy’s hand. They’re both also holding several leashes, and their pack of dogs trots along beside them like some kind of prancing symphony.

Daegal glances around the park and then his eyes quickly cut back to Merlin and Arthur. He squints in their direction.

Merlin turns his back on Daegal as fast as he can. He glares daggers at Arthur, who seems dumbstruck.

“Arthur, he has a bloody boyfriend! That he _walks dogs_ with! I thought you were researching these people! Ugh, take this fucking thing,” he says, shoving the leash at Arthur.

“I’m sorry—I don’t know how I missed that. Although now that I think about it, that does explain some of the photos on the company website.”  

Merlin shakes his head, his cheeks burning. “Well done. If I never walk another dog again, it’ll be too soon. And it was all just to see Daegal strolling along in his own little love story. Cheers for that.”

“At least it’s a nice day?” Arthur offers.

Merlin scoffs and walks off brusquely, heading home with Arthur following behind.  

Once he calms down, though, he feels a little bad. It’s not like he’s been doing any of this research himself—even about Leon—and it’s not like Arthur’s been that much of a nuisance.

He slows down to let Arthur catch up, then mutters, “I’m sorry I snapped about Daegal. It’s not a big deal, and you couldn’t have known.”

Arthur looks genuinely contrite. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t look into it more closely. And that you won’t get a chance to see how things might’ve worked out.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s probably best I don’t end up with someone surrounded by dogs.”

Arthur laughs. “They’re not all like Monty.”

“Regardless.”

They walk a few more blocks without much conversation, until Arthur says, “While we’re on the subject, I want to apologise about yesterday. I do understand that it’s not the most wonderful thing to sneak out on people in the morning.”

“Why do you do it? I mean, without judgment, I’m asking. And why not just go to theirs anyway? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Arthur is quiet as he twirls the leash around his hand and unwinds it again. “It would be, but I don’t want to see their flats.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, I don’t want to know them.”

“Being in someone’s flat for a few hours hardly counts as ‘knowing them.’ Do they know you after one night at yours?”

“Probably. It doesn’t take much to see I’m a shallow arsehole.”

Merlin huffs. “Don’t be daft. You just want them to think that so they don’t want to see you again. And why don’t you want to know them? Have you ever tried a real relationship?”

They turn a corner, getting closer to their block of flats, and Merlin hopes they don’t get there before the conversation ends.

“Actually, I was engaged once,” Arthur says.  

Merlin stops. “What? What happened?”

Arthur turns to him and nods his head forward, urging him to keep walking. “She . . . It turned out she was just using me, and I never had any idea, even though plenty of people warned me.”

“Using you? Using you for what?” Merlin can’t even imagine someone pulling anything over on Arthur—he seems so cynical—but he should’ve realised there would be a reason for that.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I guess not,” Merlin concedes, then adds, “It’s just, I didn’t realise you had any uses.”  

Arthur shoves him lightly with a laugh. “I keep offering to show you.”

“Don’t deflect. What happened?”

Arthur shrugs. “My family has some money, that’s all,” he says. “She wanted it, but had another boyfriend on the side the whole time.”

“Oh. That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I paid for her school and everything.” He shakes his head, grimacing.

Merlin hates to push, but he’s curious. “School for what?”

Arthur huffs, looking up at the sky. “Fashion design.”

“Oh. I was hoping you might say nursing or something.”

“Hardly. It’s more likely she’s designing scarves to strangle her enemies with.”

“That is really, really shitty. I’m so sorry.”

They keep walking, Arthur looking alternately ahead and at Monty. Finally, he answers, a faint smile tugging at a corner of his mouth. “I’m just cautious now is all.”

Merlin nods. “On the plus side,” he offers, “I don’t think you have to worry about anyone suspecting you’re rich. Your flat is a bit of a dive, to be honest.”

“Thanks,” Arthur laughs. “It’s what I’m going for, actually.”

“Explains why you prefer my place. I have decent furniture.”

“Among other things,” Arthur says, flashing Merlin a smile. “We should get takeaway tonight and watch _Doctor Who_ in French. You know, for Leon.”

“Yes! That sounds perfect! I mean, _Oui!_ That sounds _parfait!"_  he laughs.

They hurry the rest of the way home. Merlin can’t wait to ditch Monty at Alice’s for the rest of their lives, and either Arthur feels the same, or he’s really looking forward to dinner, as he’s the one who sets their energetic pace.

 

 

 

Tuesday night, Arthur is at Merlin’s flat when he gets home. “Merlin! I have excellent news!”

“Leon’s back in London?” Merlin can’t wait to finally meet the one guy he genuinely thinks things might work out with, and who might be worth all this trouble.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “No, not yet. But I found George Caxton. He’s not doing badly at all—he works in government. He’s an assistant in the Department of Culture. Seems like a pretty cool job. You should call him.”

“Wow. He was always ambitious. Like, seriously ambitious. Too serious for me. But that was before I realised if you did things my way, you ended up with a crap office job.”

Arthur sighs sympathetically and hands Merlin the phone.

Amazingly, the out-of-the-blue call is very well received.  

“Merlin, I’m so glad to hear from you!” George says.

“Really?” Merlin asks, surprise taking his voice to a higher pitch.  

“Yes! I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, actually. What have you been up to?”

“Up to? Erm, what have I been up to,” he repeats, looking at Arthur, who gestures emphatically, encouraging him to say something interesting. “Not much, I guess. I just got home from work a little while ago and—”

Arthur slaps his forehead and turns his back to Merlin briefly.

“Oh? Where do you work?” George asks.

“Just at some advertising firm. It’s not really that exciting, but tell me more about your job. You’re working in gov—”

“In advertising!” George cuts in. “That’s wonderful!”

Merlin winces, hating when people think his job is much more interesting than it is, as if he’s making use of his art degree or something. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m not really involved in any of the creative work. I’m just a scheduling coordinator.”

“Still! It’s not an unimpressive thing to tell people.”

“I guess,” Merlin says, not bothering to disagree.

Arthur’s hands are on his hips, and Merlin can feel the disappointment rolling off him at Merlin’s dreadful wooing skills.

“Anyway, George, I was wondering if you might want to get coffee sometime—I mean, if you’re available for that kind of thing. It’d be nice to see you.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Merlin. In fact, why don’t you come with me to a little work event I have to go to on Friday? You can be my plus-one.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide. He never expected George to be so forward and fast-moving. He’d always been rather conservative, socially speaking. “Really? I mean, erm, sure! That’d be nice.”

“Great! It’ll be a bit fancy—government personnel and so on—so you’ll need to be dressed appropriately. In a suit.”

“Of course,” Merlin says, sounding vaguely affronted, as though the thought of wearing anything else would be ludicrous. “Where should I meet you?”

“In the lobby, so that I may personally escort you into the reception. You’ll need my clearance to gain entry anyway.”

“Right,” Merlin says, feeling less sure of how good an idea this is for a first date. “Is there anything I should know beforehand?”

“No, no. It’s the usual fare. Mostly members of parliament and various committees, their assistants, that sort of thing. You’ll be fine. Just be sure to dress formally, and don’t be afraid to include a small indication of flair in your attire.”

“Flair?”

“A small indication, if you would.”

Merlin really doesn’t know what that means, but he says, “Yeah, okay. Thanks. And thanks for the invitation. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Excellent. I’ll be in touch to confirm details. Goodnight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, George.”

Merlin hangs up and looks at Arthur, his eyebrows furrowed. “That was weird.”

“He asked you out? That’s good, isn’t it?” Arthur’s still standing there, studying him.  

Merlin leans back, folding his arms over his chest. “You know what? It is. He must have really missed me. And thought highly of me, too,” he realises. “He’s not afraid to take me as his date to a Westminster soiree. With MPs and things.”

Then an image of the evening flashes through his mind, and he shoots upright. “Oh, fuck! I better study. I won’t know who half these people are!”

“Only half?” Arthur teases.

“Okay, all! _All_ , Arthur!” He chews a fingernail. “Also, I need a suit.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have a suit?”

“Should I?”

Arthur snorts.“It’s not the worst thing you could own. The problem is easily remedied, though.”

Merlin thinks about his bank account and sighs. “I suppose. I’ll look for one tomorrow after work.”    

“That’s the spirit! Except—do you know how to shop for a suit?”

Merlin doubts it. “I’ll bring Gwen.”

“Good plan.”  

 

 

Of course, Gwen can’t go shopping with Merlin that day, but he decides it will be quickest to go by himself anyway. Besides, he figures the shops have assistants to help you with this sort of thing.

The problem is, he finds himself in a fitting room with six different suits and an overly eager attendant asking every two seconds how things are going. The man keeps showering Merlin with compliments and bringing him more and more options, each more confounding than the last.

Finally, he gets frustrated enough to text Arthur.

_Help! This clerk is a piranha. What the fuck kind of suit should I buy?_

_A flattering one._

_Helpful. Arse._

_Alright. Are you in the fitting room? Send me a pic in whatever suit you have on. Or if you’re between suits, I’ll take a look at that. You know, to get a baseline. ;)_

Merlin sighs. _We are not sexting. I need suit help._

Is he really this person now, sending selfies to Arthur from a fitting room? Then again, what else is he going to do? If he’s going to get gouged for a suit, he should at least make sure it’s a good one. He snaps a shot of himself and sends it. Arthur’s response is swift.  

_The pants aren’t fitted enough. Also don’t get black. Let me see navy._

_Okay. What are you doing rn anyway?_

Instead of a typed answer, Arthur sends a selfie of his own. He’s in a bathtub, grinning like a loon, his hair fixed into some kind of gravity-defying soap sculpture.  

Merlin laughs, then remembers the salesman outside the door and bites his lip to stifle it. _You’re taking a bath????_

_Yes! How could I resist? You’ve got very intriguing bubble bath. Don’t worry, though—I’m very good at multitasking so it’s no problem._

_Wait_ — _you’re in MY bath???_

_Obviously. It’s much nicer than mine. Now let me see a fitted navy suit. Maybe with subtle pin-striping. Pair it with a white shirt with thin blue grid lines. Light blue.”_

_Yessir._

Arthur sends a few more details of what to request from the clerk, who seems thrown and also annoyed at Merlin’s newly acquired decisiveness.

Once he’s dressed to Arthur’s specifications, he has to admit he looks pretty damn good. He really likes the suit, even. The price tag, not so much, but it’s nice to feel handsome, maybe even dapper. Adult.

When he sends the pic to Arthur, the answer he gets back is three fire emojis, and a wide grin spreads across his face. He’s glad Arthur isn’t there to see how happy the reaction makes him.  

 _My work here is done_ , Arthur texts.

 _Thanks._ Merlin is tempted to add something as grateful and corny as he’s feeling, but decides it’d be a bad idea. _Make sure you’re out of that bathtub before I get home,_ he sends instead.

_Only if you bring dinner._

Merlin rolls his eyes. _OUT!_

~ x ~

Friday morning, when Merlin gets up, he finds Arthur on his sofa with a notebook—one of Merlin’s, of course—in his lap and a pen in his mouth. He shrugs off his disappointment that Arthur has pulled again, has someone to hide from as usual, but he tries to stop that train of thought in its tracks. He has to remember that he has no right to begrudge Arthur his hook-ups.

“You’re up!” Arthur cheers.

“It is 7:30."

“Yes, but you’re alarm has been going off for the last 45 minutes.”

Merlin blinks at Arthur, wondering what he’s doing, and then decides it’s not worth the mental energy to figure it out. He turns around to go back into his room and get ready for work.

“Wait! I made you a chart for tonight!”  

“What?” Merlin says, turning, and tugging at the hair on the left side of his head, willing it into normalcy. A quick shower will only do so much.

“A chart! Of the people George will likely know. It’s colour-coded by department and everything. I think it’s quite excellent, myself.”

“Of course you do. Let me see.”

Merlin walks over and snatches the notebook from Arthur. The illustration is actually very well done, and also amusing, with people’s job titles augmented with descriptions like “ultra wanker” and “ancient rubbish” and, more rarely, “not altogether horrible.”

Merlin smiles as he scans the chart. “How long have you been here working on this?”

“Since four. I couldn’t sleep and figured I’d make myself useful.”

“Oh.” Merlin wonders if maybe Arthur isn’t hiding from someone after all. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Happy to help. You should probably get ready for work, though. You’ve usually showered by now,” Arthur says, stretching out on the sofa and propping his hands behind his head.

Before he walks off, Merlin asks, unable to help himself, “What is it you do all day, anyway?”  

Arthur’s head lolls lazily to the side and he says, “Well, today, I’m going to kick things off with a nice long nap. I’m not sure after that, but I can keep you posted as things unfold, if you like.”

“Please don’t,” Merlin huffs, then gets on with his morning. 

~ x ~  

At work, Merlin is nervous and excited with anticipation. He’s been googling MPs, the Department of Culture, and various subcommittees all day, cross-referencing his findings with Arthur’s chart. He hasn’t gotten much actual work done, but it is a Friday. Besides, this evening matters a lot. He doesn’t want to blow his chance with George on their first date by sounding epically stupid in front of half of parliament.

When he gets home, he puts extra care into his grooming routine, wanting to look his absolute best. He’ll be entirely out of his element, and every ounce of confidence will be crucial.

Once he’s ready in his suit, perfectly pressed shirt, gorgeous deep purple tie (that Arthur has lent him), shined shoes, and a rather fine finish to his hair, he stands in front of the mirror, practising various smiles and greetings until he feels ready to face the evening.  

He walks into the living room and is gathering his keys and wallet when Arthur walks in. He greets him with a wolf whistle, and Merlin tries to hide his smile, knowing a blush is probably pinkening his cheeks anyway.

Arthur leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “If George doesn’t want you,” he says, “you’ll have your pick of closeted government officials, that’s for sure.”

“Pillock,” Merlin laughs.

“Seriously. You look great.”

“Also, I’ve been studying all day.” This might matter even more than how he looks.

“See? You’ll be brilliant. Text me if you need anything.”

“You’ll be here?” Merlin hopes his voice doesn’t sound quite as needy to Arthur as it does to himself.

“Yup! Right here,” Arthur smiles, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting down in a chair.

“Well, enjoy the bath.”

“Maybe I’ll change it up and shower instead.”

Merlin’s smile hasn’t faded since Arthur walked in, so rather than answer he turns to leave. As he’s closing the door, he hears Arthur call out behind him, “Good luck!”  

“Thanks,” he shouts back. He pauses, not sure if his voice has carried through the now-closed door, then heads down the stairs, his heart beating a little faster than when Arthur had come in.

~ x ~

As promised, George meets Merlin in the lobby, which is a gorgeous, marble-floored, high-ceilinged wonder, and Merlin already feels in over his head. When George sees Merlin, though, his eyes light up, and he gives Merlin a warm, welcoming smile.

“Merlin!” he says, taking both of Merlin’s hands in his and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “You look terrific. Even nicer than I expected.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says, unsure how much of an insult is buried in the compliment. “You, too.”  George does look nice. He’s in a brown suit, a colour from which Arthur had steered Merlin away, but which looks right, somehow, on George.

“Here,” George says, taking a small box out of his inside pocket. “I got you something.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“No, no, I wanted to. Open it!”

A little overwhelmed, first by the kiss, and now the present, Merlin shrugs and opens the box.

His eyebrows furrow. “Rainbow flag cufflinks,” he observes, not exactly thrilled with the gift. They might be okay, if a little tacky, but—and he’s no expert—they seem much larger than cufflinks really ought to be. They’re almost _heavy_.

“Do you like them? Put them on!”

“Erm, I’m not sure they go with my suit, actually,” Merlin tries to protest.

“Nonsense! They’re perfect. Please? It’ll mean a lot to me. And everyone will love them.”

“They will?” He supposes this is what George meant by “flair.” He’d thought the purple tie would do it, but apparently not. “I guess, if you think I should,” he says, and swaps his own cufflinks (borrowed from Arthur) for these.

At the reception, George is more demonstrative than Merlin ever remembers him being during their relationship. In fact, George had always been the opposite, rather touch-shy, and not just in public. It’s nice, though. He feels like George won’t abandon him among these people, and that he really wants to be close to Merlin. In fact, he’s introducing Merlin to everyone, almost showing him off, which makes Merlin a little uncomfortable, but also proud to be taken seriously, appreciated.    

They wander around, sipping wine and laughing politely as part of various conversations. When George introduces Merlin to his boss, the director of the department of culture, they move quickly onto the topic of all the LGB&T initiatives she’s been championing since taking the position.

“George has been key to all of these efforts, as you know,” she says.

“Actually, I don’t,” Merlin says. He’s glad George is doing so well, and for an important cause, but he has no idea what George’s job functions really are.

“Oh, yes, although maybe you can convince him to get more actively involved instead of just working behind the scenes.”

Merlin looks at George, who is blushing, eating up the attention. “Yeah, maybe.”    

George leans over and gives Merlin noisy kiss on the cheek. It’s unexpected and awkward, especially in front of his boss. Merlin squints and laughs, shaking off the kiss. “How many glasses of wine have you had?”

“This is still my first one, dear,” George says, linking his arm with Merlin’s.

“You know how George is,” the director says. “Such a lightweight.”  

Between the “dear” and the kisses, Merlin isn’t sure he “knows how George is” at all. “We may have to cut him off after just the one,” he adds nervously.

They all laugh, as if he’s said something truly hilarious. George takes Merlin’s hand, indicating they should start circulating again.  

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Merlin says. “And thanks so much for the work you’re doing.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Merlin. It’s so nice to finally meet you, and to see that George is with someone so lovely.”

He feels George tug on his hand, pulling him away with more force.

Merlin lets them get out of earshot before he snatches his hand back. “George!” he snaps.

“Yes?” George asks through a phony smile.   

“Why do all these people think we’re a couple??”

“Shh,” George whispers, looking around nervously. He grabs Merlin’s hand again and pulls him through the crowd and out into the corridor.    

“George!” Merlin grits out once they’re in the hallway. “Why do they all think I’m your boyfriend?”

“Merlin, please! Calm down! I didn’t tell anyone anything.” He nods a smile at someone walking by. “They’re just assuming.”

“They’re just assuming because they think you have a boyfriend, and you’re walking around kissing me. You barely even kissed me like that when we were together!”  

“What does it matter what they think? Besides, I thought you called me because you wanted to get back together.”

Merlin exhales sharply, hating that that’s true. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean anything. What matters is that you’re lying to them, and making me part of it. Why do you want them to think you already have a boyfriend anyway?”

“It just would be helpful,” George says, sighing. “I didn’t really see the harm. I’m up for a promotion to be put in charge of LGB&T programming, and that could pave the way for who knows what, maybe even an MP bid.”  

“Why would you need a boyfriend for any of that, though? It doesn’t make sense.” Then the worst possible reason—and the probable one—dawns on him. “George,” he growls. “Are you even gay?”

George freezes at the question. Merlin shifts his gaze to a far corner of the room, trying to contain his rage. “You are unbelievable."

“ _Shh_. Merlin, please!”

“Since when are you not gay!”

“Well, since we were together, actually. But honestly, I figured you suspected, and that’s why you didn’t mind us not having sex.”   

Merlin stands there, breathing through his nose and pressing his lips together, trying to deal with everything George is saying, everything he wanted to use Merlin for now. “I _did_ mind, George," he finally says, almost shaking. "We even talked about how I minded. Why did you think we broke up?”

He undoes the cufflinks, feeling the sting of tears forming behind his eyes. He shoves the flags at George. “Here. Give these to some other queer imbecile to trot out whenever you need a promotion.”

He storms towards the elevator, his eyes and cheeks hot with rage. He takes the stairs instead, two by two, needing to get out of the building as quickly as possible.

He speed-walks a few blocks, then steps into a pub for a much-needed drink. He orders a double, then leans against the bar and looks around. He notices that all the patrons—mostly men—are in suits like him. It seems late for the after-work crowd, but in this part of the city work must run pretty late. He can feel eyes on him from further down the bar, and when he turns to see who’s been staring at him, the man smirks and nods his head toward the back of the pub in invitation.

Merlin shakes his head, downs his drink, and charges back out into the street, figuring all of these people can really go fuck themselves. Twice.

Home is all he wants now. He hurries to the tube station, only stopping at an off-licence to get a bottle of something good to help this night go away.   

Once he’s off the tube, he gets a text from Arthur asking how it’s going. He thinks about all the things he could type back, and the tears start burning at the back of his eyes again. He puts a hand to his forehead, pinching his fingers at the bridge of his nose to try to stave them off.  

He types back, _Fucking awful_. _He’s a spineless bloody cunt fuck who was just using me to seem gay_

_WHAT?? Where r u??_

_Almost home._

Instead of texting back, Arthur calls. Merlin thinks about not answering it, but he really does want to talk to Arthur, even if it’ll make it harder not to actually cry in the fucking street.

“Hey.”

_“Merlin, what the fuck happened?”_

Merlin shakes his head, sniffling. “He needs to seem gay. For work. And I guess I’m enough of a queer bloody idiot to help him with that.”

_“What? Why would he need to seem gay?”_

“Get this," Merlin huffs. "It’s a political strategy.”

 _“Well,_ that’s _new.”_

“Yeah. He wants to be top poof in the UK or something. And you know what? He’s not even gay. Never was, apparently,” he says, his voice getting thick with the sob he won’t let escape. “And worse . . .”  

There’s a pause while Arthur waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Arthur asks, voice low and gentle, “And worse what, Merlin?”  

Merlin sniffles more noisily this time, unable to help it. “And worse—,” he goes on, voice cracking now, “—it was _my_ fucking dick that made him realise that. That he’s not gay.”

He feels the tears finally roll down his cheeks, but he’s determined not to let out another pathetic sound.

_“Merlin—”_

“No, it’s fine,” he says, grateful his voice is steadying. “I know it probably wasn’t only to do with me.”

 _“Merlin!! It was_ nothing _to do with you at all, other than that he lied to you, and then wanted to fucking use you in spite of it! This guy sounds like the worst piece of shit I’ve ever heard of. God, where are you?! I’m coming to get you.”_

“No, no, I’m almost home. Me and a very expensive bottle of Haig Whisky I just picked up, to go with this very expensive fucking suit, which I bought for _him_ —just to be some fucking badge of gayness for _him_ after _I personally_ turned him straight!” Yelling definitely feels better than crying.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur pleads again.

A couple walking by gives Merlin a strange look and a wide berth, and he realises how loudly he’s been roaring about this fucked up night. He sticks out his tongue at them, even though he knows he’d probably do the same if he were them.

He clicks the phone off and hurries the rest of the way home, hoping he doesn’t see another person ever again, or at least for the rest of this night.

Except, of course, for Arthur.  

 

 

“Merlin!” Arthur calls to him from over the railing, a relieved expression on his face. He looks so beautiful, and like he really, really cares, that Merlin’s heart breaks a little more. He can’t deal with complicated Arthur thoughts on top of everything else tonight, so he puts his head down and watches his feet climb the stairs, one by one.

When he walks into his flat, Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder. His touch is firm and comforting, and Merlin has to resist leaning into it.

He throws himself into a corner of his sofa, not bothering to take his suit off, since it’s probably the only time he’ll wear it. He’d looked good, damnit, and it was all just to be some accessory to strategised gayness.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, unscrewing the whisky and taking a swig.

Arthur sits in a chair opposite him, and Merlin is grateful for the distance. He passes Arthur the bottle.

“Yeah. On the plus side, probably no one believed you were actually George’s boyfriend.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, for starters, you’re obviously way out of his league.”

Merlin snorts and looks away, not bothering to comment.

“Also, you’re gay and he’s not. Didn’t anyone seem dubious about the whole thing?”

Merlin thinks about it. “A few people did, actually. I guess that’s something,” he says, taking the bottle back.

“We can tweet tomorrow about your breakup and @ everyone he works with,” Arthur suggests, his smile even more warming than the whisky in Merlin’s chest. “Or we can send ‘Sorry You’re Not Gay’ flowers to him at the office.”

“Or, ‘Good Luck Finding a Fake Boyfriend’ flowers,” Merlin says, taking to the game.

“Or, ‘Hope the Pretending-to-Be-Gay Thing Gets You That Promotion’ flowers.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Merlin laughs, finally loosening his tie. _Arthur’s_ tie.

Arthur watches him tug at the knot, and Merlin’s throat suddenly feels tighter than when the silk was knotted up against it.

“I want to show you something,” Arthur says, getting up suddenly. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

Merlin leans forward. “What?” he asks, unable to imagine what Arthur could have to make him feel better, other than the ill-advised obvious.

“C’mere.” Arthur wakes up the laptop on the table, and Merlin stands and walks over, taking off his jacket on the way and hanging it over a chair.

Arthur types in a few things, then spins the computer to face Merlin. He steps back, crossing one arm over his chest and letting the other elbow rest on it as he thumbs at his lower lip.

Merlin leans over the table to study the screen, on which one of his comics is set against an orange background. There is a fetching sidebar and a header—written somehow in Merlin’s trademark style—that bears the title of the series, “Aliens at the Office.”

He scrolls down, and there’s a button to click to go to the next post. Sure enough, when the screen loads, it’s the next set of panels in the strip. Merlin’s mouth gapes open as he clicks through the posts. “Arthur, what is this?”

“Do you like it? It’s not live or anything, and it’s just one idea for the branding and layout. We can change it however you want—I mean, if you even want to have a webcomic.”

“You made me a website?” He gazes at Arthur, his chest swelling with gratitude and fondness and a mess of other feelings he doesn’t want to think about.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought, your stuff is so good, you know—funny and sort of weird and, well, _you_. It shouldn’t just sit in your notebooks. You should let people see it, see how they like it. Maybe it could even lead to something. For your career, I mean.”

“Arthur . . . ”

“Do you like it? I can wipe it if you want. I know it’s me being presumptuous again.”

“No! No, it’s amazing! How did you even do this?”

The blush on Arthur’s neck spreads, and Merlin has never seen him so uncertain. “I just know some coding is all. Anyway, I was going to wait to show you until I had it a little more polished . . .”

“Arthur, I love it! Do you really think I should have a webcomic?”

“Why not? Have you ever even submitted your work anywhere?”

“Well, no.”

“See? And people will love the bizarrely relatable work days of those three-armed aliens. They’re kind of adorable, you know.”  

“Yeah? They main characters are based on me and Gwen, actually.”

“I thought so, maybe. I love it. And it’s a gay comic, too. We need more of those.”

“I made the whole planet gay!” Merlin laughs.

“I know! It’s great. It’s amazing. The whole thing.”

Merlin can’t help himself now, what with the whisky, this incredible surprise, and Arthur’s shy smile. He walks around the table and takes Arthur in a strong hug, earnest and tight. “Arthur, _thank you_. I really love it.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved,” Arthur says, rubbing one hand on Merlin’s back, the other only faintly hovering at his waist, as if he can’t quite decide how to respond. “We can work on it together, now that you know about it. Make it how you want it.”

Merlin interrupts the hug before it can get too weird. He pulls the tie all the way off, mostly to busy his hands with something, and then tosses it on the table. “What should we do now?” he asks, feeling close and warm, and a little nervous. “Do you want to get some air?”

Arthur smiles at him, looking relieved. “Yeah. I know just the place. Bring the whisky.”  

Merlin returns the grin. “Okay,” he says, grabbing the bottle as Arthur takes a bag of crisps from the cupboard. “Wait—where are we going?”

Arthur turns to him with a mischievous grin. “The roof,” he says. “C’mon,” opening the door and leading the way.

“The roof? I thought we’re not allowed up there!” Merlin calls, hurrying after him.

~ x ~

The roof, to Merlin’s surprise, has quite a nice set-up, somehow, with a turfed area, lawn chairs, and a trunk that Arthur is already rummaging through.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, as Arthur lays out a blanket that he’s pulled from the trunk.

“Yes?”

“How come you have access to the roof? And how do you have it all set up?”

“I may have sweet-talked the manager a bit.”

“Oh, my god. Did you sleep with Mr. Kilgharrah?”

“No, no. I’m just sort of his IT support. He’s hopeless with a computer.”

Merlin eyes him skeptically. “Nice bartering skills, anyway,” he says, sitting on the blanket and admiring the view of the city.

“I thought so,” Arthur says, sitting next to him.   

They stay like that for a while in relative silence, eating crisps, taking the occasional swig of whisky, and enjoying the feel of the warm night air.

Merlin thinks about how long ago the first part of the evening feels, and he’s grateful. It’s all because of Arthur, too.

Up here, with this quiet, late-night view of London, enjoying the simple pleasures of good whisky and cheap crisps, he feels healed, whole, again—or at least as whole as he’d been before the evening began.   

“You know, I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me,” he says. “Especially tonight.”  

Arthur turns and gives only the hint of a nod, not saying anything. The breeze flirts with his hair, making him seem even softer.

“Seriously. I mean how did you even learn how to build a website? And why would you do that for me?”

Arthur sighs. “It’s a long story,” he says, but Merlin just keeps looking at him, waiting for more. “Basically, I used to work in software development.”

Merlin pauses. “Okay . . . but that doesn’t seem like it has the makings of even a short story.”

Arthur huffs and lies on his back, looking up at the sky. His attention isn’t on Merlin, and Merlin takes the time to study the lines of his face, his nose and jaw and neck, thinking how he might draw them, or how he might like to kiss him. He’s sorely tempted to lean over him, saying to hell with this conversation and snogging him senseless, but he knows that for once, that isn’t what’s on Arthur’s mind. What’s more, Arthur’s about to open up a little, maybe.

Merlin lies down next to him so he can lose himself in the sight of the stars, too, instead of in the appeal of Arthur’s features.

Arthur glances at him then looks up again, wriggling his shoulders to settle in. “It has to do with my family’s money. See, my father owns a software company, and he’s . . . well, a bit tyrannical at work. At home, too, actually. We’re not on the best of terms. Anyway, I stopped working there a few years ago, and I freelance now, here and there.”

“Oh. I’m . . . sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur says. “He thinks I’ll go back after a while, but that’s not going to happen. Not while he’s running the company, at least.”

“Do you want to go back?”

There’s a pause as Arthur thinks. “No,” he finally says. “I do miss being part of something, though. Something bigger than just freelance projects, I mean. And working with my sister, pain in the arse that she is. She and I are in touch, though.”

“Can I ask—did you quit when the thing happened with your engagement?”

Arthur snorts. “How’d you guess?”

Merlin frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s better this way.”  

There are a lot of things Merlin can think to say, but he decides to let the topic lie. “Thanks,” he finally says, turning to Arthur. “For telling me. I know you don’t like for people to know things about you.”

Arthur returns the gaze. “Usually not, no. But it’s different with you.”

His eyes are dark and look almost vulnerable. Merlin’s breath catches, and he looks up at the stars again, struggling against how much he wants to kiss Arthur.     

Arthur props himself up on an elbow, though, catching Merlin’s gaze again.

Merlin’s not sure when the tension got so thick, or if it’s always been like this with them.

Arthur leans in, closing the distance between them, and Merlin relishes the soft brush of Arthur’s lips against his own.

He swallows dryly. “I thought we agreed not to do this,” he whispers.

“I agreed to no such thing,” Arthur murmurs, his lips grazing now over Merlin’s cheek.

“If—if we do this,” Merlin stutters, “whose flat would you hide out in in the morning?”

Arthur chuckles, then presses a kiss to Merlin’s jaw. “Alice also needs someone to track down her exes,” he says, “so I figured I’d try her next.”

Merlin laughs nervously, feeling Arthur’s mouth on his neck, warm and tantalising. “Is that so?”

Arthur’s hand roams over Merlin’s chest, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, expertly. “No.”

“No,” Merlin repeats shakily. His skin is buzzing with the sensation of Arthur’s touch.

Arthur nuzzles into Merlin’s neck with firmer, open-mouthed kisses as his hand undoes the rest of the buttons, and Merlin’s shirt falls open. “Not sure if you’ve noticed,” he says, “but I quite like being in your flat, as much as possible.”

Merlin’s breath hitches at the words and the feel of the air on his stomach, the hair there and on his chest prickling at the coolness of the breeze and the warmth of Arthur’s hand as it explores all of his newly exposed skin.

There’s no denying that Arthur knows what he’s doing, and Merlin feels like putty in his hands, very willing putty. _“Arthur,”_ he whispers.

“Yeah?” Arthur says, lifting his head to meet Merlin’s gaze. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice is low and thick with desire, and Merlin knows he’s fucked already.

“No,” Merlin says, rising up to catch Arthur’s mouth in a desperate kiss. He licks into it, raking his hands through Arthur’s hair and giving in to the lust he’s been fighting for weeks. He can’t remember ever wanting anyone this much.

His muscles tense under Arthur’s touch, and Arthur presses his hand more firmly along Merlin’s stomach, groaning into the kiss, deepening it.  

 

 

Merlin lets his head fall back. “I would hate how good you are at this if I wasn’t benefitting from it so beautifully at the moment.”

“I’ve barely begun,” Arthur says, unbuckling Merlin’s belt.

“Should we—should we go back inside?”

“If you want, but no one can get up here, and no one can see us either.”

Merlin’s hand traces Arthur’s face. “Do you bring people up here a lot?”

Arthur’s hand still and he shifts his gaze to meet Merlin’s eyes. “Never.”

Merlin gives the barest nod, and Arthur gets back to work, making his way through Merlin’s buckle and flies, then rubbing his hand along his hardening cock through his boxer-briefs.

A small moan escapes Merlin’s throat at the touch. He slips his hand quickly from Arthur’s neck to his belt, and he unbuckles it and unzips his jeans—not with anything like the grace Arthur had used, but effective anyway.

He’s eager to palm Arthur’s cock, and he lets out a breath as he rubs down the shaft. It’s not just hard but thick, and almost as long as Merlin’s. It’s heavy and tantalising and full of promise, even through a layer of cotton, and he shoves Arthur’s jeans lower to give his hand better access, but Arthur shifts on top of him, dislodging his hand.

In their new position, they roll their hips together, renewing the kiss, open-mouthed and breathy, with broad swipes of their tongues against each other’s lips.  

Merlin tugs at Arthur’s t-shirt hem to pull it up. Arthur leans on an arm to get it over his head and off. He tosses it aside, and Merlin runs his hands greedily over the curves of Arthur’s muscled pecs and stomach, so different from the flat plane of his own chest and torso.  

 _“Fuck,”_ he says, barely audible. _“Fuck,”_ and lets his head fall back. He feels Arthur’s mouth on his neck again, licking and sucking wet kisses there. He puts his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, lets his hands explore the impressive breadth and strength of Arthur’s back. His body feels pornographic under the pressure of Merlin’s hands, and he needs their rutting, at the very least, to be more effective. He bends a knee to shift the friction between them to just the right places, but it’s not enough.  

Arthur lifts his head and locks their gazes. He rasps out, “Let me take you in my mouth.” He swipes his tongue into Merlin’s mouth again, finishing with a nibble of his lower lip. _“Want you,”_ he whispers with a stronger press of his hips to Merlin’s, and Merlin can feel how hard he is. “Want to.”  

Merlin whimpers at the thought of Arthur’s mouth on him, and as he pushes them apart to get his trousers and pants off, Arthur crooks a smile. “I’ll make it good,” he says, all arrogance and intent.

“I would hope so, what with all the practice,” Merlin says with a smirk.

Arthur feigns a scoff, but he leans over Merlin to lay him back down onto the roof.  

He mouths his way down Merlin’s chest, stopping at each nipple and flicking them with his tongue, sucking at the thin layer of muscle beneath them. Merlin’s back arches into it, and he puts a hand in Arthur’s hair, urging him further down.

Arthur takes the hint and licks down to Merlin’s navel, swirling his tongue around and over the small coil of skin there. He mouths his way down farther, and Merlin can feel the skin of Arthur’s chest brush against his cock when Arthur settles between his bent legs. The sensation is more enticing than Merlin had expected, and it makes him even less ready for the warm, wet suck of Arthur’s mouth just inside his thigh. His breath catches at the feel of it, and he aches for more.  

Arthur’s tongue teases at Merlin’s bollocks and under them, but almost accidentally with how much attention he’s giving the join of Merlin’s thigh and groin. It’s a delicious kind of torture, and it’s driving Merlin a little mad. _“Fuck,”_ he whimpers.

Arthur switches to the other side and takes his time again, intent on laving every inch of Merlin’s sensitised skin. Merlin fights the urge to touch his own cock as it strains with need, because he knows the wait will be worth it. He’ll wait while Arthur’s mouth goes any and everywhere it pleases, because the slide of it, tight and slick over his shaft, will be better by far than Merlin’s own hand right now, if he can only _wait._

Merlin moans at the feel of Arthur licking beneath his bollocks again, and at the warm, wet swirls of Arthur’s tongue when it starts teasing at his arsehole, circling and pressing into it in slick, shallow pulses. The idea of it makes Merlin as horny as the feel, and he moves his hips to get Arthur to do _more._

His impatience seems to have backfired, as the sensation of Arthur’s mouth on him suddenly disappears, and Merlin’s body stills at the loss.

He hears Arthur spitting into his hand, though, and then he can’t believe this is all happening, now, on the roof.

His breath hitches loudly at the feel of Arthur’s tongue back on him, a stroking finger joining it. They work together to press inside him, and the building tension of the slickness and heat, the ever-deepening pulses of his finger, would be torture if it didn’t also feel so good.

When Arthur lifts his head, he adds another finger to make up for the loss of his tongue, and Merlin groans with the increase in pressure against his prostate. His cock is positively aching, but he thinks he might be able to come like this anyway now.   

“You look gorgeous,” he hears Arthur rasp out, and he lifts his head to see him.

Arthur looks about as wrecked as Merlin feels, his hair a mess, his lips swollen and red and glistening. When his mouth quirks up in the tiniest smile, Merlin feels something, not exactly _separate_ from lust—he’s not sure he could separate anything  from lust at the moment—but something warmer than it nestle deep inside his chest.   

Arthur’s head dips down and he laves Merlin’s hole again, keeping his fingers well slicked as they pulse in and out.

Merlin groans at the renewed wetness of the pressure, at Arthur still wanting to do this, wanting to do _more_ of this. His dick might fall off from neglect, but this is too amazing to interrupt.

He’s almost writhing with need when Arthur finally props himself up to give Merlin’s cock some much-needed attention. Merlin lifts his head, desperate to watch Arthur’s mouth on him.

Arthur gives a generous  swipe of his tongue around and over the head, then sinks down all the way to the base in one devastating suck that draws another moan from Merlin’s throat.  

 _“Fuck_ ," Merlin whines, and he can’t help but buck into Arthur’s mouth, even with Arthur’s fingers in his arse. “Oh my god, _fuck_.”

Arthur’s head starts bobbing up and down, and the rhythmic sounds of his sucking keep Merlin cursing on each breaths.  

It’s all almost too much, Arthur’s mouth pulling on him at a pace that Merlin can’t quite catch, his fingers pressing into him, sending sparks of pleasure through him with each pulse.  

He’s only been truly loud a handful of times, and he hears himself now, shameless. He puts his hands in Arthur’s hair, but he can’t keep them there for long, and he grasps restlessly at the blanket underneath them, at their discarded clothes.  

“I’m close,” he warns, his eyes squeezed shut with pleasure. Arthur’s mouth picks up it’s rhythm, and Merlin feels Arthur’s other hand on his arse, encouraging him to fuck into his mouth.

He whimpers at the push, and thrusts up into the back of Arthur’s throat. Arthur takes it like it’s nothing, like his mouth was made for Merlin to fuck into, and Merlin comes hard with a groan.

After the first rush of it, he puts a hand on Arthur’s cheek, soothing it as Arthur sucks through the rest of the orgasm.

Even after his mouth releases Merlin's prick, Arthur's fingers keep up their thrusts. He looks up at Merlin, watching him while his fingers work a few more pulses of thin, white come over the head of his cock and onto his stomach.  

Merlin’s breath catches with the last of his spend, his legs and stomach trembling with the release of such long-held tension. Arthur licks up the dribbles of come on Merlin’s stomach, then sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to reveal a huge, self-satisfied smile.

“Proud of yourself?” asks Merlin weakly, his body gone completely limp.

Arthur cocks his head to appreciate his handiwork. “A little,” he says smugly.

“Well, you’ve done yourself no favours,” Merlin says, letting his head fall back as he lies there, blissfully boneless, catching his breath. “I’m gonna need a minute before I can help you out.”

“Oh, I can wait,” Arthur says, and he sidles up alongside Merlin again.

Merlin turns to him. “What if I fall asleep though?”

“I’ll be even more proud.”

“Arse.” But they’re smiling at each other.

“I’ll just curl up next to you and we’ll both sleep.”

Merlin squints at him. “No one is that saintly. Unless you were far less into that than you seemed.”

Prompted by curiosity, he turns on his side and palms Arthur’s crotch. “Nope, still hard as fucking steel. I can probably muster the strength to wank you off. Least I can do.”

“The least you can do is nothing, but I’m not about to dissuade you,” Arthur says, rolling onto his back.

Merlin shoves at Arthur’s pants and jeans to get them off, and Arthur helps, finally freeing what must be an achingly straining prick. Merlin’s eyes widen in appreciation as he takes in the sight of it, hard and thick and neglected.   

Merlin gathers a good bit of saliva in his mouth and licks it into his hand. He rubs the slickness slowly over the head, selfishly wanting to feel every inch of Arthur’s cock before he gets to properly fisting it, which he’s also looking forward to. The slight curve, the fatness of it _works_ in his hand, and Merlin starts pumping with purpose.

Once he gets his rhythm going, he shifts his gaze from his hand to Arthur’s face, realising that Arthur’s been watching him the whole time. When their eyes meet, Arthur’s head falls back, his eyes becoming slits as he starts losing himself to the feel of Merlin’s pumping.

Merlin leans down and kisses Arthur, relishing the lingering taste of come in his mouth. He can’t believe Arthur has sucked him off, has had his mouth so very many other places on him already, his fingers inside him, so generous, and he would’ve let it just end there.

Merlin wants to make this good. _Needs_ to make this good.

He deepens the kiss, filthy and authoritative, then works his way onto Arthur’s jaw and neck, wanting Arthur to breathe and moan and focus on his own pleasure instead of worrying about keeping up with a kiss.

Merlin lets his fingers brush over Arthur’s bollocks on the downstrokes—a benefit of having such long fingers, he discovered years ago—and listens to Arthur whimper, almost shyly in his throat, as he starts to buck up into Merlin’s hand.

 _“Merlin,”_ he says, losing his own rhythm, already chasing his finish.  

“C’mon, I want to see it,” Merlin encourages. “C’mon.” He squeezes his hand a little tighter, twists his wrist with just a touch more finesse.

Arthur groans, louder than Merlin expected, as his orgasm hits him, and strings of thick come shoot onto his chest and stomach. More of it, thinner, leaks over Merlin’s fist as he works Arthur through it, almost mesmerised at the sight.   

Arthur’s head falls back, and he takes several shaky breaths.  

Merlin settles back down on his side, resting his head on his arm, feeling sleepy and well pleased. Arthur turns to him and says, “That was stupidly good for a hand job. Holy shit.”

Merlin shrugs. “The hand is very underrated.”  

“Are you saying you wish I’d just used my hand?” Arthur grabs his pants to wipe himself off with.

Merlin laughs. “No one would ever wish that. I’m not saying it’s better than anything else, unless it’s a bad blowjob, in which case I’d rather have a wank from someone, but generally, no, the hand isn’t the number one fantasy in anyone’s book, I don’t think.”

“Well, I’ve fantasised about you doing that, actually, and I’m saying it was really, really good.”

“Have you? I wouldn’t think you had time for fantasies, what with all the real sex.”

Arthur tuts and pulls Merlin into his arms. “You really are quite clueless for a fairly smart guy.”   

They lie like that for a few minutes in contented silence, their hands grazing slowly over each other’s skin.

“So should we sleep up here or go down to yours?” Arthur asks.

“Sleeping under the stars on the roof of our building is pretty romantic, Arthur. You sure you can handle that?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, let’s stay here then,” Merlin says, feeling very content. He scoots his body as flush against Arthur’s as he can, fixing Arthur’s arm so it drapes over his chest more comfortably, and he closes his eyes.  

It’s not very long, though, before Merlin sits up. “You know, it’s actually really fucking cold when you’re just lying here naked.”

“You’re not naked. You have a shirt on. Looks really good on you, by the way, opened and loose like that.”

“Well, I’d prefer if it were floor length and made of wool at the moment, so I’m going inside.”

“Not without me you’re not,” Arthur says, and he gets up to start putting his jeans on.

“You know," Merlin says, stepping into his pants. “You can just go to your own now if you want,”

“But then I’d miss seeing your bedhead in the morning.”

“Well, I thought I’d offer.”

Merlin looks at Arthur’s features, his soft eyes, his cheekbones, his reddened lips, and he steps in to kiss him once more, more chastely. “Okay. Come sleep with me, then.”

Arthur beams in response.

“I do mean actual sleep.”

“I know, and I’m glad of it. That was a lot of come I need to sleep off.”

 

 

Merlin wakes up the next morning slowly. He’s lying on his stomach, head buried in his arms, and he peeks up to see if Arthur is there, and if he’s awake.

He is, and he’s looking at Merlin. “Hey,” Arthur says, greeting Merlin with a smile. Merlin notices Arthur’s bare-chest and realises he’s only in his pants himself.

“Hi,” Merlin grumbles. “You’re still here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Yeah. I’m such a charmer in the morning.”

“I like your grumpiness. It matches your moody morning hair.”

Merlin runs a hand through his hair, trying to tell just how chaotic it looks. It seems fairly hopeless, so he just rests his head back on his arms. “How long have you been staring at me?”

Arthur shrugs. “Not too long. Just long enough for you to wake up.” He leans over and places a kiss to Merlin’s temple, putting an arm around Merlin’s back and settling in closer to him, face-to-face.

“So this is your fault,” Merlin mumbles, and he turns his back to Arthur instead, figuring he’ll get back to sleep more easily that way.

He’s quickly disabused of the notion, though, when he nestles up against Arthur and feels a very prominent erection at his arse.

Arthur rocks against him, and Merlin can't help but think about that gorgeous cock and how hard it is for him. There is no way he’s going to care about sleep any time soon, or maybe ever again.

He feels Arthur’s lips graze the back of his neck, and his usual morning hardness goes from vague interest to full attention. He angles his head to give Arthur more of his neck to work with, and Arthur starts mouthing there more thoroughly, rolling his hips against Merlin with more purpose. He wraps an arm around Merlin’s chest, pulling him back into the pressure.

“You sure you know how to have morning sex?” Merlin taunts lightly.

“Pretty sure I can come up with something,” Arthur says. He raises himself up and leans over, angling Merlin’s chin to meet him in a kiss. “Unless you have some specific ideas of your own?”

Merlin looks at the clock. It’s already 9:30, and he’s supposed to help Gwen with her final dress fitting today. Still, there has to be time for something.

He reaches over and opens the drawer of his bedside-table, blindly grasping for lube. He pulls it out and gets his pants off quickly.

He squirts some lube into his hand and turns around, facing Arthur again, who is waiting calmly for whatever Merlin is going to do. He looks placid and content, even though his cock is a jutting shaft between them. Arthur's slept naked, Merlin realises, and his own stiff prick twitches at the thought.

Merlin leans in and kisses Arthur, slow but messy. He pulls Arthur’s hip towards his with a wrist, not wanting to get lube all over Arthur’s skin, and their cocks meet as their bodies press together.

Arthur sighs into it and puts his arms around Merlin. He deepens the kiss, moaning into it with sultry, open-mouthed heat.

He ruts against Merlin, who fights the pleasure of the friction to get his hand between them. He takes their pricks in his fist, rubbing the lube up, over, and between them, wanting to wet every angle of pressure and contact.

The sounds of his pumping and the working of his fingers are loud, obscene, and Merlin leans his forehead against Arthur’s so he can watch their cocks slide against each other in his firm, capable grip.

 _God_ , Merlin loves Arthur’s cock, and he’s only been familiar with it for a few hours. He thinks about riding it—and definitely plans to, later—and a low moan escapes him at the thought.

He pumps his fist steadily, and Arthur starts gasping into Merlin’s neck, rolling his hips in rhythm with Merlin’s hand. _“Merlin,”_ he whispers, and rests his head in the crook of Merlin’s neck. “’m not gonna last,” he pants. “’s getting embarrassing.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Merlin grits out, trying to delay his own orgasm despite their tight, fast thrusts, the feel of Arthur coming apart against him. His breathing is just as ragged as Arthur’s, and if Arthur says another fucking word, he’s going to lose his last thin shred of control.

Arthur doesn't talk more, but he keeps grunting in time with their thrusts, which is just as bad.

The feel of Arthur’s muscles contracting against him, his breaths on his neck, are more than Merlin can take, and he comes hard, well before he’d intended. 

His spend can go nowhere but ooze between them, and it becomes added lubricant, hot on Arthur’s prick, as Merlin keeps pumping his fist.  

“Oh my— _fuck, fuck_ ,” Arthur says, as he finishes hard, right after Merlin.

The hot pulses of Arthur's come make Merlin’s breath hitch with another surge of arousal. He feels Arthur’s hand on his bollocks, rolling them to help the rest of his spend along. Arthur does the same with his own, and Merlin feels a few more dribbles of come leak between them.

Arthur finally moans into Merlin’s neck and collapses against him. They lie there, catching their breaths, until Merlin feels too hot and sticky. “Off,” he says.

Arthur rolls onto his back, heavy and dramatic. “That hand again. It really has some skills.”

Merlin gets up to clean himself and get a flannel. “Trust me, we’re moving on from that next time. I’m just in a rush this morning.”

“A rush? You didn’t even have an alarm set.”

“Good thing you’re a creepy sleep-watcher, then.” Merlin grabs clean boxers from a drawer. “Who could sleep through that? Seriously, though, I have to meet Gwen. Her wedding is in two weeks and she has her last fitting today.” He tosses the washcloth at Arthur to wipe off his stomach.

“Alright. When will you be back?”

“Not sure. I’ll text you.” He turns on the shower and steps in, hurrying to shampoo his hair and soap his body.

When he comes out, Arthur is dressed and gripping a mug in his hand. “I made myself coffee,” he smiles, raising the mug in a toast. “See you later?” He walks over and gives Merlin a quick kiss.

His grin is obnoxious as ever, but it makes Merlin smile, in spite of his suspicion that Arthur has only made enough coffee for himself. “Do I have a choice?”

Arthur’s already in the doorway when Merlin calls out, “I want that mug back!”

Arthur turns and smiles. “Why wouldn’t you get it back?”

“I don’t know! You’re a wild card, Pendragon.”

Arthur laughs and walks out, closing the door behind him. Merlin smiles to himself, feeling fond and curious, and a little nervous, too, unable to ignore the butterflies in his belly.

Then he remembers he only has twenty minutes to get to Gwen’s, and he hurries to dress and get himself out the door. He doesn’t notice the travel mug waiting for him on the counter.  

 

 

A few hours later, Merlin is sitting in a plush oversized chair at the bridal shop, waiting for Gwen to come out in her dress for the final fitting. Elena is lounging on one arm of his chair, and Mithian has her own.  

“So things didn’t go well with George last night?” Elena says, playing with Merlin’s hair. “I’m sorry. Still, it must’ve been cool to have been at a Westminster party.”

“I guess,” Merlin says. “It would have been better not to have been lugged around as somebody’s gay showpiece.”

Elena and Mithian laugh, but the assistant waiting to help Gwen with the four hundred buttons on her dress looks less amused.

Gwen comes out of the fitting room, holding the top of the dress against her chest and pinching the back halves together until the seamstress can button them up sufficiently.

“Ah!” Elena gasps. “You look beautiful, Gwen! I absolutely adore that dress. I know I’ve said so before, but it’s really, really stunning, especially on you. Don’t you think, Mith?”

“I do. I especially like the silk sash around your hips. Very sexy.”

“You want one on your dress for our wedding?” Elena asks.

“You wish. Maybe on my tux,” Mithian laughs.

Gwen is smoothing the skirts of her dress as they fall in beautiful lines around her. “You really do look perfect, Gwen,” Merlin says. “I’d say Lance doesn’t deserve you but only because no one could.”

“Aww,” Elena coos. “You’re so sweet, Merlin. You deserve someone as good as Lance, too. Who’s next on your list of exes to revisit anyway?”     

“Merlin might not need to chase down any more exes,” Gwen says, smiling cheekily at Merlin as the seamstress tugs at her dress.

Elena and Mithian turn to Merlin. “Really?” Mithian says. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” he answers, blushing.

“Nothing but that he hooked up with his extremely fit neighbour,” Gwen reveals.

“Oh my god, Merlin! What? Tell us everything!” Elena says.

Merlin notices the assistant eyeing them all, and he’d really rather not do this here, or really at all. “It’s no big deal,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

“You can’t have been one of his one-night stands, Merlin. It’d be making his own home life miserable if that was all he had in mind,” Gwen points out.

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“But you’ll bring him to the wedding?” Elena asks. “We need to meet him, obviously. The sooner the better. In fact—why don’t you have us ‘round for dinner?”

“No, no, no. It’s not like that!”

“Let him be,” Gwen says. “He’ll let us meet him soon enough. But definitely at the wedding, right Merlin?”

“Maybe,” he agrees, blushing pretty furiously by this point.

Gwen’s dress is finally all buttoned, and the assistant frees her to walk towards her friends.

“Oh, Gwen,” Merlin sighs, smiling broadly at how beautiful she looks. “You really look gorgeous.”

“And it doesn’t look like it needs any more altering. Is that right?” Mithian asks.

The assistant nods.

“Terrific! So everything is all set—even your mate of honour’s date!”

Merlin sighs, but hopes that maybe they’re right.

~ x ~

After spending most of the day with Gwen—first with the fitting, then brunch, then a long afternoon at her place relaxing and freaking out about her wedding—Merlin decides that maybe he should text Arthur to see if he wants to meet for dinner.

It feels strange, since all of their hanging out has been a product of convenience rather than actual planning, but after what they did last night, and this morning, and hopefully will do again tonight, arranging to see each other outside of their building can’t be too big a step.

_Any interest in dinner?_

Within a few minutes he receives a reply. _Sure_ — _where?_

He hadn’t thought that far. “Gwen, where should I ask Arthur to meet for dinner?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Erm . . . Whatever he wants?”

Gwen laughs and keeps going through her RSVPs. “Then ask where he’d like to go.”

Merlin debates, but Arthur suggests a pub just a few blocks from their place before he can think what to type. The place is definitely on the convenient side, so the date feels less strange already.

_Sounds good. See you in about an hour?_

_Definitely :)_

“Well?” Gwen asks. “I take it he said yes, judging by your dopey grin.”

“Yeah, he said yes,” Merlin answers, blushing. “Suggested the Rising Sun, which is perfect.”

“Excellent. I’d ask if I can come along, but I already know the answer to that!”

“Sorry, Gwen! Maybe on our next pseudo-date.”

~ x ~

Arthur is already at the pub when Merlin arrives. The place is busy, but he’s snagged them a good table and has two pints in front of him.

“Is one of those for me, or have you pulled someone else already?” Merlin grins.  

“Idiot,” Arthur says, matching his smile and kicking the chair out opposite him. “I’m being presumptuous again, but I know you like wheat beers.”

“That I do. Cheers.” Merlin sits, eager for his first sip. “So what’d you do today?”

“Besides think about you?” Arthur grins. “I was very busy watching football, actually.”

“All that? While I was only helping a friend and being useful to society?” Merlin pauses to take a sip of his beer. “Tell me more, I’m on the edge of my seat.”

They chat through two rounds, mostly about how Merlin doesn’t like his job and doesn’t understand football nearly as well as he ought to.

“Must’ve worked up a real appetite with all that lying around,” Merlin teases. “Should we order?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it. What do you want?”

He gives Arthur his order of a sandwich and chips, plus another pint. He sits by himself awkwardly for a few minutes, having finished his beer, and takes out his phone.

He checks his messages, then texts Gwen. She doesn’t respond, so he tries Will, but there’s no answer there either. It doesn’t look like Arthur will be back any time soon, as he stands waiting for the pints. Of course, the sight of his arse as he leans on the bar is not bad at all to look at, and it makes Merlin think about what they might get up to later.  

Oddly, they haven’t flirted much since hooking up, but Merlin is feeling bold after two beers.  _Nice arse_ , he texts Arthur, assuming Arthur will get the message, then turn around to see Merlin ogling him.

Arthur doesn’t appear to be alerted to anything at all, though. Instead, there’s a buzzing on the table behind the salt and pepper shakers where Arthur has left his phone.

Before he realises what he’s doing, he’s picking it up and glancing at the screen. Sure enough, his text is there in a preview bubble.  

Under it, though, is another notification. _Missed call from Leon_.

Merlin puts the phone back, face down on the table as it had been, all thoughts of flirtation gone, replaced by confusion and a worrying sense that everything is about to go very wrong. Again.

It’s possible Arthur knows another Leon, but what are the odds? And why would Leon Knightley be calling Arthur anyway? Arthur was supposed to be getting Leon’s number for Merlin, not himself.

Arthur returns with a broad smile, setting down the drinks and reclaiming his chair. “There you go! The food’ll be about twenty minutes. They’ll bring it over.”

“You know, Arthur,” Merlin says, frowning and ignoring his pint. “I was just wondering: Did you ever manage to get Leon’s number?” he asks, his head cocked, gaze unwavering.  

“What?” Arthur shifts in his chair, sitting up a little straighter. “Erm, no. Why? Are you still interested in calling him?”  

Merlin wasn’t, or at least he hadn’t been. He would’ve forgotten all about Leon after last night.

His chest tightens as he thinks about how reckless he’s been. He’d known Arthur wasn’t to be trusted with anyone’s emotions, especially his own. Arthur even said as much. Repeatedly.

“I don’t know. Is he back from Japan yet? You at least knew when that was happening, right?”

Arthur looks at his beer as he spins the glass on the table, running a finger through the condensation. “I guess. He was supposed to come back a few days ago, I think. But why? Does it matter now?” He looks up, his brow furrowed as he meets Merlin’s gaze again.  

“I don’t know. Should it?” Merlin asks, his voice getting louder.  

“What? No. Why would it?”

“Do you know anyone named Leon?”  

“Merlin, what are you—”

Merlin flips the phone over and taps the screen to bring it to life. He wishes his stupid text weren’t sitting there above the Leon message, but if he hadn’t sent it, he wouldn’t have found out about this.

Arthur looks at the phone, and he leans forward. “Merlin, I can explain. This isn’t—”

“Is that Leon Knightley?”

“It is, but—”

“Calling you?”

“Well—yes—but Merlin, I didn’t think it mattered anymore. I thought after last night—”  

“How long have you had his number? And why the fuck is he calling you?”

“Merlin,” Arthur reaches across the table for Merlin’s hand, but Merlin pulls it back.  

“How long, Arthur?”

“Just a few days!”

“A few _days?_ So even before my George nightmare? What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry! I just . . . I wanted to find out a little more about him before I told you. And I didn’t know that George would be so horrible! I would never have sent you out with him if I did!”

“ _Sent me out with him?_  What are you, my handler?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then why would you keep Leon’s number from me? Or even the fact that you had it?”

“I was going to tell you!”

“No, you weren’t! You just said you didn’t think it mattered—for _me_ to be in touch with him, anyway. We all know how you like a new opportunity, though.”

“Merlin, that’s not fair!”

“Why not? His number is _programmed_ in your phone Arthur. Why is that?”  

“We’re just talking, it’s no big deal!”

Merlin gets up, the legs of his chair scraping loudly across the wooden floor. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I fell for this! I hope it’s fun fucking with the feelings of literally everyone you meet, Arthur, because let me tell you, it sucks from this end!”

It’s the second time in two days he’s storming away from someone with the sting of tears in his eyes. With George it had been about his pride, but _this_. He was a sucker, and he _knew_ it. And _Arthur_ knew it. Hell, Arthur had _done_ it, had let Merlin fall for him while he was just playing him, _lying_ to him and hiding information, _acting on_ the information himself, and all this just to score the stupid shag he’d been after all along.

“Merlin!” Arthur calls after him. “Merlin!”

Merlin flips him off without looking back and hurries out of the pub. He walks quickly, hoping Arthur doesn’t try to catch up. Luckily, he knows Arthur will have to take at least a few minutes to settle the tab.

He makes it home without incident. He leans back against the closed door, banging his head against it for good measure.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t give in to Arthur, knew what a horrible judgment call it would be, but he’d done it anyway. And he’d _loved_ it, like everyone else, probably. _They all have a good time, Merlin_ , Arthur had said _. I make sure of it_.

At the time, it sounded like the nicest part of what Arthur was doing, but now, Merlin knows it’s the cruelest.  

His phone buzzes, and he steels himself before checking the message.  

 _You want to call him? Here_ , the text says, followed by a phone number. _I’d say ‘bonne chance’ but we both know you don’t even know what that means._  

Merlin throws the phone into the cushions of the sofa. He marches into his room and strips the linens from the bed. He’d like to burn them but decides the fire alarm isn’t worth it, so he throws them in the corner behind the hamper instead.

He puts fresh, Arthur-free sheets on the bed and flops face-down onto it. His insides churn painfully at the memory of how different things had been just that morning, how Arthur had rocked him to hardness, how their bodies had pressed together, their cocks sliding tightly in his fist, how they’d come on each other’s stomachs, breathless and sated.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, and he spends the time convincing himself that he is not going to let Arthur derail him in his quest, however much he tried to sabotage it. He still has two weeks left to find true love, and he’s going to do it.

In the morning he dials the number without nervousness or hesitation.   

“Hello, Leon? It’s Merlin . . .”

 

 

His first date with Leon is the following night. Leon says he knows it’s odd to have a date on a Monday, but he was so thrilled to receive Merlin’s call, he wanted to see him as soon as possible.  

“I’ve missed you, Merlin,” he confesses over his _frutti di mare_ linguini. “I just want to say from the start that I know being with me before was difficult on account of how much I travel, but if you think you might want to give it another shot, I would very much like the chance to try again.”

Merlin smiles, flattered and appreciative of the honesty and goodness of Leon. He’s so gracious and upstanding, and he looks fantastic, too, with his reddish blond locks and his tall, fit physique that rather elegantly fills out a suit. His eyes are a kind blue, and his smile is warm as ever. It’s amazing he’s still single, but Merlin figures the travel really is quite an obstacle to a decent relationship. “I’d like that, too,” he confesses.  

“Wonderful! I’m so glad, Merlin.” Leon picks up his glass, swirling the wine in it gently. “So, tell me more of what you’ve been up to. You’re working at an advertising agency?”

Merlin hardly sees his job as his best selling point, but he’s not sure what is, so he can’t even think where to divert the discussion. “Yes, that’s right. I’m a scheduling coordinator.”

“Oh? What’s that like?”

And now there’s painful follow up. He tries not to sound too miserable as he answers. “It’s . . . fine. It’s obviously not exactly riveting. Mostly it’s a lot of coordinating—”

“Of schedules?”

“Yeah,” Merlin chuckles. “You must’ve read the job description.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be no time before they recognise how valuable you’d be in other parts of the company. Unless—unless you’re happy with the position you have. I didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t.”

“No, you’re right. I’d like to be doing something else. We’ll see.” He doesn’t want to tell Leon that he’s already been working there for three years, and that the odds of anyone taking newfound interest in his untapped talents are very, very slim. “Anyway, how was Japan?”

Luckily, the topic is a good one, and it keeps them occupied through dinner. Leon tells him about the bustle of Tokyo and the newness of it every time he visits, about the shrines and temples in Kyoto and Nara that he was finally able to see between consulting appointments, about how he can’t wait to go back to finally ski in Nagano, which he has yet to fit into a trip.  

He’s an interesting talker, eloquent and detailed in just the right amount. Merlin has almost nothing to add to the discussion, but he enjoys nodding in the right places.

When Leon drops Merlin off at the end of the night, he’s gracious as ever. His fingers brush against Merlin’s chin lightly, and they share a soft, lingering kiss. It’s lovely, but Merlin isn’t ready to invite him up. He knows Leon isn’t expecting it anyway, so the night ends on a good note.

 

 

In the week since their fight, Merlin has only seen Arthur twice, and both times, they only exchanged hostile hellos and kept going brusquely about their business.

Merlin has also had two dates with Leon, though they haven’t moved much past romantic dinners and languorous kisses that aren’t really meant to go any further. Leon is all beauty and dignity, and Merlin is grateful to be with him—proud, even, that someone as noble as Leon wants to court him so properly.

On their date Saturday, he asks Leon if he might accompany him to Gwen’s wedding the following weekend.

Leon’s face lights up at the offer. “Yes, of course. I’d be honoured!” His brow furrows then. “Isn’t your birthday the next day, though? I’m surprised that Gwen would get married the day before. I know how close you two are.”  

“Yes, well, London weddings aren’t exactly the easiest to schedule, so there weren’t many options.”

“I suppose that being a scheduling coordinator, you have firsthand knowledge of just how challenging it can be!” Leon jokes.    

“Ha ha.” Despite the gentleness of Leon’s teasing, Merlin hates that his job is so inferior to Leon’s, and further, that he has no real prospects with it, despite whatever Leon may want to believe. “Oh, yes. We discuss it at great length at the Schedulers Anonymous meetings.”

“Oh, Merlin. You were always so funny. I’ve missed that.” Leon gazes fondly at him and takes his hand over the small table they’re sharing on the terrace of Leon’s favourite late-night cafe. He strokes his thumb over the top of Merlin’s hand. “I realise this is going to sound rather forward,” he says, edging closer, “but I have another trip coming up in two weeks—to Monaco, actually. I’d love it if you’d come with me. It’d be perfect.”

Leon’s gaze is filled with an almost wild hope, and Merlin picks up his wine glass as he thinks of what to say. He takes a slow sip of his wine, then places the glass back down on the table, keeping his eyes on the motion of the liquid as it settles back into stillness. “Monaco?” he asks, finally, trying to sound casual instead of alarmed. “For how long?”

“Just ten days or so. You would love it—the coastline is absolutely stunning, and you could do whatever you wanted, all of the obscure, non-touristy things, during the day while I’m working.”

Merlin looks up. “I could?”

“Of course! You know the language so well, you’d be able to navigate wherever you liked. It would’ve been hard, I’d imagine, if you’d come with me to Japan—unless you know Japanese, of course. Do you? Forgive me for assuming you don’t.”

“No, no, I don’t know Japanese. Just the French,” Merlin grumbles. He downs the rest of his Cab-Sav. “Do you want to get going soon?”

“Sure, of course. But will you at least think about it? Even if you only come for half the time, it’d be a wonderful opportunity to get away. I’d be so glad to have you there, too—and think what a good time we’d have! We can celebrate your birthday, then, too,” he says, squeezing Merlin’s hand.  

The mention of his 30th birthday—his deadline—makes Merlin tense up. It’s so soon. “I’ll think about it,” he answers. “And thanks so much for the offer, Leon. It’s really nice of you.” He almost feels bad for just _how_ nice it is. He hasn’t even invited Leon up to his flat yet, and Leon is ready to take him away for two weeks.

“Not at all, Merlin. I was really so thrilled when you called me last week. I don’t want to screw this up by being away from you so much, or for such long stretches.”

Merlin wishes his heart could melt with a little less guilt and a little more fondness at Leon’s words. “You’re really very sweet, Leon. You always were,” Merlin says, and it’s so true that it’s painful, since he knows he’s not as excited as he should be about the invitation.  

 

 

As soon as Gwen steps out of the elevator at work Monday morning, Merlin assaults her. “He asked me to go to Monaco, Gwen!”  

“What? Merlin, can I get to my desk first and put this umbrella down?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m just a little anxious about it.”

“Obviously,” Gwen says, taking off her jacket and putting her things in her cubicle. “So, this is Leon? Monaco—really? That’s so sudden!”

“I know.” Merlin runs a hand through his hair, which he’s been doing obsessively all morning.

“Do you want to go? I bet it’s beautiful! When is he going?”

“Right after your wedding.”

“Oh, wow. Soon. Do you even have the holiday time to take?”

“I do, but only just. I don’t know. It seems like a pretty big step already. I mean, we’ve only just started seeing each other again.”

“Yes, but Merlin, your whole reason for getting back together with all your exes is that you think one of them is _the one_. ‘Big steps’ are all you’ve wanted— _supposedly_ ,” she adds, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling her gaze at him.

“I know, I know. But also—I don’t actually speak French, and he’s obviously going to find that out if we actually _go_ where people _do_!”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen laughs. “How do you get yourself into these messes? You really have a knack for creating the best and worst problems for yourself.”

Merlin huffs. “Thanks. Very helpful, Gwen.”

 _“De rien,_ _mon chéri_ ,” she taunts and heads back to her desk.

“Oh, god,” he says to no one in particular, then hopes work will be so engrossing that he’ll forget all about Leon and Monaco and true bloody love and French, and also about the gorgeous bastard that lives in the flat across the hall from him.  

~ x ~

Work is not that engrossing, Monday or Tuesday, and when Merlin goes home each night, he can’t decide whether he’s hoping to bump into Arthur or not. He misses him and the stupid sight of him, but he also knows that seeing Arthur would remind him of what he’d rather forget.

Tuesday evening, he decides he’ll do a new strip for “Aliens at the Office,” where the Merlin character debates taking a trip with a new beau. He quickly realises the character is rattling off reasons not to go, where he’d meant to have the Gwen character kick him into optimistic adventurousness. He supposes that would be out of character for the lanky little alien, though, after all.

He puts the notebook down and thinks about the website. He wonders if Arthur has taken it down, or written something horrible on it in retaliation, or if he’s just left it alone, a dormant record of what had been between them, a friendship of sorts, certainly, but one Merlin can’t detangle from whatever else was there.

He pulls up the site. It’s more elaborate and polished looking than it had been when he’d first seen it. It’s looking more real—professional—and he’s astonished, again, that it’s a site dedicated to his work.

Leon calls, interrupting his thoughts. He answers on the third ring, after he’s decided he doesn’t feel much like going out tonight. It turns out Leon wasn’t calling for that, but rather to ask when the car should come for Merlin on Saturday before the wedding.

“Oh, I don’t need that, Leon. I’ll be with Gwen the whole day, helping her get ready. Is it alright if we just meet there? I mean, thanks and all.”

“Of course,” Leon answers. “That makes sense. I should’ve realised. The ceremony begins at 5:00, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And I’ll see you the night before for the rehearsal dinner?”

“Definitely.”

“By the way,” Leon says, a new note of timidity in his voice. “I hope it’s alright, but the only plans I’ve made for your birthday are dinner reservations. I have to work that morning for a few hours, so we can’t do anything during the day, and also, I’m still hoping we can do most of our celebrating on the trip.”

Merlin winces, knowing he should’ve given Leon an answer about Monaco by now. “Dinner would be lovely, Leon. It really doesn’t have to be anything special. Besides, I’m not sure what kind of shape I’ll be in the day after my best friend’s wedding.”

“True! Well, whatever you want, Merlin, just let me know.”

Merlin smiles. “Thanks, Leon. Have a good night.”

He ends the call and closes the laptop with Arthur’s website still on the screen. He grabs his phone and starts another French lesson, intent on being as ready for Monaco as possible, since sometime soon he’s going to have to get up the nerve to accept the invitation, or at least half of it.

 

 

The rest of the week is given over almost entirely to helping Gwen make sure everything is set for Saturday. They make endless calls to confirm with hairdressers and the patisserie, the dress shop, the formal suit hire shop, the reception venue, the registrar, and a few guests who still aren’t sure if they can make it. Merlin feels like he’s earned a degree in wedding planning by the time they’re toasting the happy couple at the rehearsal dinner on Friday night, but he’s happy for Gwen and Lance, and glad he could be helpful.

The restaurant for the dinner is fairly close to Merlin’s flat, and Leon walks him home. They stop outside the building, and Leon pulls Merlin in for a kiss. “I know you have a full day tomorrow with all the preparation, so I won’t ask if I can come up,” he says low in Merlin’s ear. “Perhaps tomorrow night, though? I’d love to wake up with you on your birthday,” he whispers, squeezing Merlin in a little tighter against him and giving him another kiss.

The door to the building opens, nearly knocking Merlin over. It’s Arthur stumbling out onto the pavement, and he says “Oh, I’m sorry,” before realising who’s there.  

“Arthur!” Merlin gasps, startled more by the sight of Arthur than being hit in the shoulder.  

“Merlin,” Arthur says, sounding just as surprised. He keeps his hand on the door as it falls shut behind him.

They stand for a moment, just staring at each other, until Merlin’s brain catches up to the situation.

“Well, I know you know Leon,” he says.

“Actually, we’ve never met,” Arthur says and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

 _“You’re_ Arthur Pendragon? I didn’t realise you two knew each other!” Leon looks between them, delighted at the coincidence. “And you live in the same building?”

In contrast to Leon, Merlin is furious, certain now that Arthur never even mentioned him to Leon.

“Yes, well, small world, I guess,” Arthur says, his eyes darting to Merlin’s guiltily.

Arthur looks eager to step away, but Leon doesn’t seem to notice. “How’s Morgana?” he asks.

Merlin gets some pleasure from watching Arthur squirm—knowing he’d like to get away, and certainly not talk about his family.

“She’s fine. Busy as ever, I think.”

“Yes, she always is. You know, I should give her a call,” Leon says to Merlin. “Morgana knows Monaco very well. I’m sure she can recommend some excellent places for us to go next week.”

Arthur’s mouth opens, his eyebrows rising on his forehead. “You’re going to Monaco next week?”

“Well, I’m trying to convince Merlin here to come with me,” Leon smiles, swinging Merlin’s hand in his.

Arthur looks between them and at their joined hands, then nods quickly. “Well, enjoy your trip. I really have to be going. Good night.”

He hurries down the pavement to wherever he’d been headed.

“I didn’t realise you two hadn’t met,” Merlin says to Leon.

“What? Oh, yes. We’ve only spoken a few times. He seems like a nice guy, though. Nothing like his sister,” he laughs.

“Is she not nice?”

Leon smiles at the ground. “No, she is, actually, but she works hard to keep that a secret.”

Merlin can see how that trait might run in the family, but then he remembers that Arthur’s niceness is merely strategic, so he says nothing.  

“She’s a force to be reckoned with in the tech world—fierce and gorgeous and brilliant, and the most intimidating person you could ever meet.”

“You sound smitten,” Merlin says, amused.

Leon squeezes Merlin’s hand and laughs. “No, no. I admit I may have been a bit taken with her ages ago, but I’m not the kind of man for her at all.” He shakes his head, his hair falling softly around his face as he smiles at Merlin, blushing. “Anyway, that’s long in the past. There’s no one I’d rather be with right now than you, Merlin.” He brushes a lock of Merlin’s hair away from his eyes and leans in for a longer, deeper kiss.  

He’s an excellent kisser, but Merlin finds his head too full of Arthur (and now possibly Morgana also) to really focus on the heat of their mouths as their tongues slide together. He breaks the kiss and takes Leon’s hands. “I should really go up,” he says quietly. “Like you said, long day tomorrow and all.” He looks up at Leon through his lashes, hoping he hasn’t offended him.

Leon chuckles. “Of course. I guess gushing about an old crush doesn’t exactly enhance the mood.”

“No, no,” Merlin assures him. “It’s not that at all. Actually, I think it’s kind of endearing that you like high-powered women,” he teases.

The blush on Leon’s cheeks deepens, creeping above the clean line of his closely trimmed beard. He looks almost absurdly handsome, and Merlin leans up to give him one last kiss before heading upstairs. “Good night, Leon.”

 

 

 

In the morning, while Merlin is getting his things packed for the day—his rented tux in its garment bag, his grooming products, an overnight bag (just in case), and anything Gwen might need but have forgotten—a loud series of knocks sounds on the door.

Merlin takes a breath and opens it to find Arthur in the hallway. “Can I come in?” he asks.

Merlin is surprised, to say the least, at Arthur’s appearance, and he’s not sure he has the time or the emotional energy for whatever is about to happen, but he steps aside, sighing, and then closes the door.

Arthur walks to the middle of the room and turns, his hands on his hips, shoulders squared. “Are you actually going to Monaco with him?” he demands.

“What?” Merlin asks, stepping away from the door and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Monaco. Are you honestly going with him?”

Merlin squints at him. “Why? Are you jealous? Sorry to have beaten you to the punch.”

“Would you stop with that?” Arthur scoffs. “I was not _hitting_ on Leon. I was on a date with _you_ , in case you hadn’t noticed. And I don’t understand. Are you really so fickle in your feelings that you can just pick up and go on some big trip with him?”

“Me? Am _I_ that fickle? That’s rich coming from you. You barely even _have_ feelings! You’re too busy playing with other people’s.”

Arthur glares at him, his lips pressed in a firm line. “Is that really what you think of me? Is it?”

The question takes Merlin by surprise. He’d been expecting another attack, or at least a rude retort, but this cuts deeper than either of those. “To be honest, Arthur,” he sighs, “I’ve stopped trying to think anything of you at all.”

Arthur gazes around the room, taking a breath, then faces Merlin again. “And it’s that easy, is it? You just say, ‘I’m done thinking about Arthur,’ and that’s the end of it?”

“I didn’t say that, but it’s obviously what I should do. You’re not _interested_ in caring about people. You even told me so yourself, but I’d started to let myself think I was different anyway.”

“I _told_ you you were different!” Arthur pleads.  

“But you could say that to everyone for all I know! I’m sure you were making Leon feel special when you were talking to him behind my back.”

“Merlin, I wasn’t talking to him about anything. Why don’t you ask him? We’d never even _met_ , as you know.”

“So then what did you talk about?”

“Just some programming for his work. It was nothing!”

“Programming. Like for, I don’t know, a website you could make him?” he taunts.

“Merlin!”

“What?” Merlin can feel the heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks, and he knows he can’t handle this fight right now.

“It wasn’t like that. I’m a programmer! What would you have me talk to him about?”

“ _Me_ , Arthur! About me! Or you could’ve told me about him, that you were talking to him, that you had his number, _anything_. But you didn’t, did you?”  

Arthur thrusts a hand roughly through his hair. “No, I didn’t.”

“And why not?”

He pauses. “Because I didn’t want to.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Yes, there I go. And there _you_ go, to Monaco,” he says, flinging his arm towards the window. “I suppose because you’ve just always wanted to go there, just like you’d always wanted to stuff dead animals a week ago.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to glare, but he knows he can’t pull it off when he’s this upset. “I’m going because I _want_ to go, Arthur, because I want to go with _him_!”

“You don’t even _know_ what you want! You wanted _me,_ though. I know it. I _felt_ it.”

Merlin curses the tears burning in his eyes. “Fuck you! Fuck you for using that against me, when all you _do_ is try to get people to want you. Look, you did it, alright?” he cries, dropping his arms in defeat. “You won. Congratu-fucking-lations. I wanted you. Now just get the fuck out, _please!_ I’m supposed to be celebrating my best friend’s wedding today, and it’s off to a brilliant bloody start, thanks to you.”

Arthur stands there staring at him, his mouth agape, and Merlin hates every one of the hot tears he feels streaming down his face.

“Just _go!_ ” he yells, and he rushes into his bedroom before things can get even worse, before he can see actual pity in Arthur’s eyes on top of everything else.

He’s desperate to be alone, and he holds his breath until he finally hears the front door slam shut.

He allows himself a few stuttering sobs, then wipes hurriedly at his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths and goes to wash his face again, knowing he’ll have to scrub extra-hard this time.  

~ x ~

He tries his best to put Arthur and their fight out of his mind all morning and into the early afternoon as he sits with Gwen, Elena, and Mithian at the salon where they’re getting their hair done. The conversation is enjoyable enough, but it’s still a struggle to stay in the moment, and they notice.

“What is it, Merlin?” Elena asks, the plaits of her hair being held in place by a series of pins and clips. “Are you worried about dancing with Leon later?”

“What?” he says, caught off-guard by the topic.

“Dancing. We all know formal dances are not exactly your forte. And Leon probably has a certificate in ballroom dance from Cambridge.”

“Oh, no. I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ll have to tell him I can’t dance. Wait—unless I’ve already told him I can. Shit. I don’t remember.”

“Merlin, why do you always lie about yourself to your boyfriends? Are you that afraid they won’t actually like you?” Mithian asks.

“I don’t lie,” Merlin defends. “I just say things that I think . . . might become true.”

Mithian levels her gaze at him while Elena laughs.

“Anyway, it’s not that I think they won’t like me,” he adds more seriously. “I just . . . I don’t know. It’s like a compulsion to tell people whatever I think will go over best.”

“Not all people,” Elena says. “You just told me you think these braids make me look like the Swiss Miss.” She frowns at her hairdo in the mirror.

“He’s not entirely wrong, El,” Mithian says with a smile. “Except I love the look.”

Elena grins at Mith and blows her a kiss, satisfied with the praise.

“The point is, Merlin,” Gwen says. “You really should try being yourself with men. Tell Leon you can’t actually dance and see what he says. If he really likes you, he won’t care, and he’ll even understand why you said you could. I mean, if it’s understandable,” she adds, cocking her head with a frown.  

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. It probably won’t even come up.”

“At a wedding, Merlin? Oh, you really do like living your life and just blindly hoping for the best, don’t you?” Mithian observes.

Merlin sits back in his stylist’s chair. “That’s not true, Mith. If anything I’m overly thoughtful. I plan things out. Maybe I’ve had some missteps lately, but only because I’m so focused on my future.”   

“No, Merlin. You’ve been thinking about the future as something that’ll be decided tomorrow, based on whoever you find yourself in bed with.”  

Merlin sneers. “Well, when you put it that way. But that’s not what this is. Look, you’ve got Elena and can’t understand, so just leave it, okay?” He shifts his attention to Gwen, hoping he’s shut down all further comments on the topic. “Gwen, what colour are you having your nails done for this? Are you coordinating with your bouquet or something?”

“Actually, I’m getting a French manicure. I figured it would give you and Leon something to talk about.”

He throws his head back against the chair. “God, why did I even ask?”

~ x ~

When they’re upstairs at the venue, everyone dressed and ready, and Gwen a bundle of nerves, the four of them share some pre-ceremony champagne to help take the edge off, and to toast Gwen, and the day, and their friendships, and every other sappy thing they can think of.

“We better head down,” Mithian says to Elena. “It’s almost time. You know your cue, right?” she asks Gwen and Merlin.  

“Yeah, we’re all set,” Merlin answers, taking a deep breath. He feels nervous without knowing why.  

“Merlin, you look truly dashing in this tux,” Gwen says, running her hands over his lapel. “You could win over the world in that, never mind Leon.”

Merlin blushes. “Thanks, Gwen. You might be a little biased, seeing as how you picked it out.”

She turns to the mirror to fuss with her hair and her dress once more as the promenade music starts playing, and Merlin knows they’ll be heading down the aisle soon.  

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He figures it’s Leon, or perhaps Will asking when drinks are coming, but when he takes a peek, he sees it’s a message from Arthur.

_I’m sorry about this morning. Shouldn’t have done that before your best friend’s wedding._

Something tugs deep in Merlin’s chest at the apology, and he looks up to see Gwen staring at him. “C’mon. Time for us to walk down the aisle!”

“I’d be honoured, Gwen,” Merlin says, and kisses her on the cheek. “Love you.”  

“Love you, too, Merlin. Now let’s do this!”

~ x ~

The ceremony is beautiful, and amazingly, nothing goes wrong, even with Merlin in charge of arranging the train of Gwen’s dress and various other details.

When the registrar proclaims that the bride and groom may kiss, the room feels swept up in the romance of it. Merlin can feel Leon’s eyes on him, but he avoids his gaze.

He thinks about Arthur, and how just two weeks before, he’d thought he’d be here with him, how Arthur’s just sent an apology—for the morning at least—and how he might be thinking about him, too.  

He sneaks a text while everyone is gathering to go into the reception hall. _It’s fine._   

Despite his brevity, he’s eager for a response. Thankfully, one comes quickly.

_It’s not. But anyway, enjoy the wedding. And happy birthday tomorrow. Doubt I’ll see you for a while._

Merlin is startled by the message, stricken at the thought that Arthur might be going somewhere, especially before Merlin will see him again.  

“Everything alright?” asks Leon, who’s now standing in front of him.

“What? Yeah,” he says, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Ready?”

“I was just about to ask you that.” Leon smiles and offers Merlin his arm.

As they walk, Leon tells him how handsome he looks in his suit, how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of him during the ceremony, even with the bride and groom looking so lovely.

Leon’s flattery should make him feel good, but it just makes the knots deep in his gut twist tighter.

“Thanks, Leon. Gwen picked out the tux, and someone called Kara did my hair. It’s all owing to them. Anyway, I hope you don’t mind, but I think my first order of business has to be getting a drink. Or three, maybe.”

“Alright,” Leon says. “Shall I go get us something?”   

“No, no. I think I need Will for this. Friend-group ritual, you know how it is,” he explains, then charges off towards the bar, hoping Leon won’t follow too closely behind. He’d really like something to settle his nerves before he has to deal with more of this evening.  

Sure enough, Gwen, Lance, Will, and Freya are at the bar raising shot glasses in the air.

“Wait!” Will shouts. “Here comes Merlin. Get him one of these!”

The bartender, quick to respond to any request within the bride’s vicinity, hands Merlin whatever it is the rest of them are drinking. “To true fucking love!” Will toasts.

Merlin’s chest clenches, but he chimes in as loud as anyone, “To true fucking love!”

“You guys are beautiful,” Will says, throwing his arms around Gwen and Lance. “Honestly, and the best of all of us. To many, many happy years together, and as many little Gwens and Lances as you want!”

“Will!” Freya chides, slapping his arm.

“What? How the hell should I know how many kids they want?”

Their joking continues, and they get one more round of drinks—wine and cocktails this time.

Merlin feels decidedly better as he makes his way back to Leon. “Sorry about that,” he says.

“It’s alright. What’s that you’re drinking?” Leon asks.  

Merlin realises with some shame that not only does Leon not have a drink, but that Merlin hasn’t even thought to get him one. He eyes the concoction in his glass and decides he’d rather avoid saying the phrase “Double Juniper Sling” if at all possible. “I’m not sure. Something Will ordered,” he says, taking a sip and glancing in the other direction.

“Well, I think I’d prefer a glass of wine anyway. It is early yet. I’ll just go fetch one.”

He watches Leon as he heads to the bar and uses the moment alone to take out his phone. He wants to answer Arthur with something, at least.

 _Oh. Thanks, I guess_ , he types _._

He knows he has no right to be upset about Arthur leaving when he himself is about to go away with his boyfriend. _Ex_ -boyfriend, Arthur would remind him.     

“Merlin, are you alright?” Leon asks, returning with his wine. “It looks like that drink might not be agreeing with you.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Probably just need something to eat.”  

They make their way to the _hors d'oeuvres_ table and snack on cheese and fruit while they chat with other guests.    

Before long, the reception is properly underway, with everyone enjoying dinner and the band about to start up.

The bride and groom get up for their first dance—a waltz, of course, because Lancelot would want to twirl Gwen around the floor with grace and aplomb and love.

 _“And all the happy couples out there_ ,” the band leader shouts half-way through. “ _Get up and join them!_ ”

Leon stands, handsome and proud, and sure, no doubt, that Gwen’s best mate will want to be first on the floor. He offers his hand to Merlin who can only look up in horror at the sound of the strings.

“I—I can’t, Leon,” he says, pulling Leon back into the seat next to him.

“Why not? I thought you loved dancing, and waltzing in particular.” He looks almost troubled by Merlin’s contrariness.

“‘And waltzing in particular,’” Merlin despairs. “Did I say that?”

“You did, when we were meant to go to that gala at the opera hall, but you canceled at the last minute because your cousin came to town unexpectedly.”

“My cousin? Right,” he says, horrified at how very many things he’s told Leon that aren’t true.   

He looks at Gwen as she and Lance gaze into each others’ eyes, as if there is no one else in the world. They are moving over the floor in gentle swirls of Gwen’s dress and hair, and it’s beautiful.

He scrubs his face in his hands. “Look, Leon. There’s something I should tell you.”

Leon must sense the serious turn of Merlin’s mood as he takes his hand. “What is it Merlin?”

“I can’t waltz.”

“That’s alright,” Leon says comfortingly. “We’ll do it another time.”

“No, I mean, at all. I can’t dance. I lied about it.”

Leon pauses. “I don’t understand.”

Merlin shrugs, wishing he could understand it more himself. “I just wanted you to think I knew how.”

Leon’s smile returns to his face slowly. “Merlin, I’m sorry you felt that you had to lie about yourself! I hope I didn’t make you feel that way, especially about dancing. That would be ridiculous.”

“No, please don’t apologise. You didn’t do anything. I just said it once, is all, and then never let you know it wasn’t true. I’m sorry.”

Leon considers him for a moment. “Well, that’s alright, Merlin. It’s a bit of a strange thing to lie about, but it’s not a big deal. I can teach you.”

“No, no,” he says, gearing up for a tougher confession. “The thing is—I don’t want to learn. It’s just not something . . . I don’t know, for me.”

Leon sits back in his chair, the crease in his brow deepening. “Oh.” He takes a napkin from the table and folds it slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says again. He doesn’t know how he’ll admit to all of his other lies, but he realises now that he has to, that all this is pointless otherwise.   

“It’s alright,” Leon finally says. “I suppose your intentions weren’t bad, if you were just trying to impress me. Anyway, lots of people can’t dance. Thank you for telling me now, especially as I’d asked Morgana all the best places to take you dancing in Monaco. I’d’ve felt terrible, not to mention foolish, to be dragging you places you didn’t want to go.”

Merlin had never dreamed that something so small—a little fib about dancing, of all things—could have such a large impact. “You planned for us to go dancing?”    

“Well, yes. I happen to find it rather romantic myself, but it’s not something we have to do. I can find us something else.”

“I’m so sorry, Leon. I really probably shouldn’t go on this trip.”

“No—Merlin—it’ll be fine. It’s just dancing. And now that you’ve told me, we’ll have an even better time. Besides, _on peut faire la danse du loup, si tu veux, oui?_ ” he adds, smiling again, and with a faint blush, if Merlin isn’t mistaken.  

Merlin returns the grin, hoping it’s an appropriate response. He has no idea what Leon’s just said, and he cringes at the thought of the towering French lie about to crash down on him.    

He finishes his drink and plants the glass down on the table. “I’m just going to get another one of these. I’ll be right back,” he says. “Do you need anything?”

Leon’s smile, faint as it was, fades further as Merlin gets up, clearly meaning to go to the bar alone. “No, thank you, Merlin.” His gaze falls on his empty wine glass, his fingers slowly tracing the stem.

Once Merlin is some distance from the table, he lets out a sigh. He’d never meant to hurt Leon, though now he can’t imagine how he hadn’t seen the inevitability of it. He’s ashamed, terribly, of his own behaviour, of his obliviousness to its impact, and he realises he has to come clean—about everything, and at Gwen’s wedding, as shitty as that is, because it can’t go on any longer.

At the bar, he orders himself a gin and tonic and Leon a glass of wine, despite his declining the offer. He looks back at their table, at Leon sitting quietly alone, watching couples sweep by on the dance floor.  

Merlin goes back to the table and sits, placing the drinks down.

Leon looks up with some surprise. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to get me a drink.”

Merlin winces at the realisation that Leon didn’t expect Merlin to think of him, to do something as simple as bring him more wine.  

“I wanted to. I should’ve been doing it all night. You’re my guest at this wedding, and I’ve just been wrapped up in myself.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Leon says. “I understand, though. It’s your best friend’s wedding. I’m just grateful you wanted me to be here with you. Getting myself the occasional glass of wine isn’t a problem.”

Merlin’s smile is sad. “Still, though.”

“It’s alright, Merlin. Stop apologising.” Leon takes one of Merlin’s hands in his. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you, though. You seem troubled, and you should be having a good time.” 

The band is playing something cheerier now, upbeat and poppy, which makes Merlin feel worse. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“Merlin, just tell me. Is it Monaco? You don’t have to go. I’m sorry I’ve pressured you. I shouldn’t have. Please don’t worry about it at all.”

“Leon,” Merlin says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “You’re too good to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Merlin, it was one little lie. And if you don’t want to go on a trip right now, I completely understand.”

Merlin takes a deep breath and squeezes Leon’s hand, hoping it’ll help somehow. “Leon, I don’t speak French. Like, at all. That was a lie, too.”

Leon’s brow furrows deeply.

“I know,” Merlin goes on. “I know I lied a lot about that. Made a big deal of it, even. And, well there were other lies too, I guess,” he admits, his lower lip trembling. “Christ—you’ve planned a _holiday_ around the French! It was horrible of me!”

Leon frees his hand from Merlin’s. He looks towards the door, taking a few breaths. “But Merlin, why? I don’t understand.”  

Merlin sighs. “To be honest, I don’t really either.” He hangs his head at the patheticness of it, then looks up to face Leon again. “I just wanted to be someone worthy of you, someone who made sense with you, who could be your ideal partner. But instead I’ve been taking up your time with all of this pretending—”

“—Lying!” Leon corrects angrily.

“Yes, lying. And I’m so sorry.”  

“So, you think my ideal partner would be someone trying to make an utter fool of me?”   

“No, Leon, that’s not what I was trying to do.”

“It’s what you did, though, Merlin,” he declares, and he stands up and straightens his suit jacket.  

Even with his face red and tears in his eyes, he looks more dignified than anyone Merlin’s ever seen.

“I’m so sorry, Leon,” he says again, more quietly this time.

Leon glares at him, then turns on his heel and walks away.

As much as Merlin is filled with shame and regret, he finds he’s finally able to breathe more easily than he has all night.  

He sits at the table for a few minutes, taking sips of his drink and watching his friends dance together. They look happy, and Gwen had been right—he feels better here without a Leon (or a Mordred, god forbid, even if he’s alone.  

He thinks of Arthur again, and how Arthur might’ve been his date. It would’ve been fun, he knows. They’d’ve been on the dance floor with his friends right now—not waltzing, of course, but just swaying together with their arms around each other, maybe sneaking a kiss here and there.  

Gwen snaps him out of his Arthur reverie, sliding into the seat next to him in a wave of chiffon and silk.

“Gwen, what are you doing? You should be dancing”  

“What are _you_ doing? Are you okay? I saw Leon leave.”

“Yeah. I told him about all the lying. Needless to say he wasn’t happy about it.”

“I’m sorry, Merlin—for him—but I’m proud of you,” she says, squeezing his arm.  

“Proud?” Merlin scoffs. “For lying to a really great guy? For making him feel like a fool? For breaking his heart?”

“For being honest, Merlin. You weren’t in love with him, and you weren’t going to be. All those lies didn’t even matter. Well, they did, but not as much as the emotional one.”

“I wasn’t emotionally ly—”

 _“Merlin_ ,” she chides.

He sighs. “I know. I’m such a fucking idiot. And a terrible person.”

“You were misguided, and you did some things you shouldn’t have, but you’re not a bad person. Now,” she says, sitting up straighter and locking her gaze with his. “Just how honest are you going to be tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

 _“Arthur_ ,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Arthur.” Merlin’s chest aches at the name. “I really liked him, Gwen. Maybe more than liked.”

“And he’s out of the question because?”

“Because . . . he lied,” he says, his lips quirking at the irony.  

Gwen smiles at him. “Let me ask you this. Can you think of a reason he might’ve lied that isn’t so nefarious?”

“Probably,” he admits. “But he’s leaving, Gwen! He said he won’t be seeing me for a while. He even wished me an early happy birthday because of it, which is the worst part of all.”  

“Why? Were you hoping to see him in particular on your birthday?” she drawls.  

“Yes!” Merlin says, slapping his forehead at the realisation. He grins broadly, feeling like maybe he’s actually understanding himself for the first time.   

“Well, then _go!_ ” Gwen urges.

“What, now? And leave your wedding?”

“Yes, now!” she shouts, shoving him out of his chair.

“Okay, okay! Thank you, Gwen! Tell Lance I’m sorry!” He leans in and places a swift kiss on her cheek, then runs for the door.

He’s outside, hailing a cab, and texting Arthur. _Have you left yet?_  

_Left for what?_

_Wherever you’re going! Are you home?_

_Yes I’m home_

_Please stay until I get there!_

_Isn’t the wedding still going on?_

_Yes! Please don’t go anywhere!!!_

 

 

Merlin can’t get up the stairs fast enough after the cab drops him off, and the tux shoes aren’t helping at all. He slips no fewer than three times, and his clamoring is hardly boosting his confidence, but he can’t worry about that now.

He’s calling Arthur’s name before he even gets to the landing and knocks hard on the door. “Arthur, Arthur! Open up! It’s Merlin!”

There isn’t a sound from Arthur’s flat, but he hears, instead, his own door open behind him, and he turns to see Arthur leaning in his doorway. “Arthur—what are you doing in my flat?”

Arthur’s brow furrows. “I’m always in your flat. And you told me not to go anywhere.”

“But what if I’d come home with Leon?”

“What if?” Arthur shrugs. “Why haven’t you?”

Merlin pauses, surprised by the response, but he can’t let himself get distracted, so he rushes forward. “Arthur, look, I’m so sorry. I just need to talk to you before you leave. Please.”

Arthur steps aside as Merlin barrels into the flat. “Merlin,” he asks calmly, swinging the door shut behind him. “Where is it you think I’m going? And why aren’t you at the wedding?”

Merlin stops in the middle of the room, running his hands through his hair. He takes in his surroundings, noting how the flat feels quite peaceful in stark contrast to his own insides, roiling with emotion.

He takes a few breaths as Arthur walks further into the room, folding his arms over his chest. It’s a strange reversal of their morning scene, Merlin thinks, and the observation is not a comforting one.

“You said you were going away,” Merlin says.   

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You even wished me a happy birthday because you wouldn’t be here.”  

“Because _you_ wouldn’t be here, Merlin. Because _you’re_ going away, remember? Monaco?”

“Oh, I’m not going to Monaco,” Merlin says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but I had to see you before you left, because we have to talk. I have to apologise.”

Arthur studies him. “Apologise for what? And couldn’t you have just called or texted me?”

“Well, yes, but—wait, so you’re not going away?”

“No,” Arthur answers, drawing out the word.  

“Oh, good,” Merlin says. “That’s good,” and his shoulders finally lose some of their tension. Arthur still stands there, staring at him. “Erm,” he adds, “I can see how all this might seem a tad dramatic, then.”

Arthur’s lips quirk with a hint of amusement. “It might, considering you’ve just run out of your best friend’s wedding—without your date, I might add.”

“Oh, well, the Leon thing is over. I told him I lied about—well, everything, and—”

“You did?” Arthur interrupts, eyes wide. “What did he say?”

“That I was probably a sociopath.”

A burst of laughter from Arthur makes Merlin smile, but he looks at the floor, steadying his expression. “Yeah. It’s not really funny, though. It was awful of me to lie to him—especially about _so many_ things. Like I wanted to control what he thought and felt. I can’t believe I didn’t see how arrogant that was, and selfish, and stupid—well, I knew it was stupid.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, lowering his head to catch Merlin’s gaze. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. It’s not like you were manipulating him for some evil purpose. You just wanted him to like you, and you got a little carried away selling yourself.

Merlin snorts. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“You didn’t have bad intentions. That counts for something.”  

Merlin rubs at his forehead, then meets Arthur’s gaze again. “The point is, I realise I’ve been an idiot about things, and I really need to apologise.”

“Apologise for what, exactly?” Arthur asks, squinting.

“For not letting you explain about Leon.”

Arthur nods. “Okay. Anything else?”

“What?”

“Would you like to apologise for, say, thinking so little of me in the first place? That I’d be chatting up your ex after what happened with us?”

Merlin’s chest tightens at Arthur’s anger. “I know, I know, I’m so sorry—for all of that. I don’t really think that’s what you were doing. I just—wait, what were you doing?”

“I was talking to him about programming, Merlin, about some freelancing. I tried to tell you that.”

“Oh, right! I was just so nervous, Arthur. You know everything about me, all my ridiculousness, and my dumb job, and my weird comics, everything. You even know my entire sexual history, which is a little odd, but—but I’m not used to guys really knowing me. I mean, obviously! And you’re so gorgeous and funny and smart, and you could easily make anyone fall for you that you want. I’ve been fighting it for weeks, but I—”

“I do not try to ‘make’ people fall for me, Merlin. Quite the opposite. I thought we’d established that you’re the one who does that.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I know. I was just so sure that you’d break my heart. I didn’t even want you to explain about Leon. Maybe I just wanted to get it over with, something to prove you weren’t trustworthy.” He sighs heavily and sits down, finally, in a kitchen chair.

He looks up at Arthur, who seems more sullen, so he adds, “I’m sorry,” hoping another apology will help.   

Arthur huffs out a breath and walks to the sofa. He sits opposite Merlin, his elbows on his knees and fingers loosely folded together.

“Merlin, it’s not like you were wrong about me. I certainly haven’t been a trustworthy person lately. You had every reason to doubt me. Hell, I _was_ lying to you. I _was_ talking to your ex behind your back.”  

Merlin frowns. “So why didn’t you tell me about Leon?”

“Honestly,” Arthur says, looking away, “because I didn’t want you to call him. I didn’t think I could compete with him,” he adds, his voice lower. “I’m sorry.”

“Compete with him? But we weren’t even together. And you let me go out with George.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, but I already liked you quite a lot by then. And I was pretty sure George was not really my competition. Leon’s the only one of your exes you really seemed to want, and he seemed to deserve it, too, by the way.”

“So you didn’t give me his number because you wanted me to be with you instead? Like, as your boyfriend?”

Arthur chuckles, a blush creeping up his neck. “Yes, Merlin. As my boyfriend.”

“Even though you don’t date people?” Merlin asks, unable to stifle a hopeful grin.

“ _Didn’t_ date. But I really like you, Merlin. I like knowing all those ridiculous things about you. I liked hunting down your exes with you, even though I always wanted you to come home with me. I liked that I was the one who was in the know,” he says. “I want to be with you.”

Merlin’s smile is wide now, splitting his face, and he lunges at Arthur on the sofa. He straddles his lap, one leg tucked on either side of him. Arthur’s arms wrap around him, warm and firm as he hugs Merlin to his chest.

Merlin runs his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “So you still want to be my boyfriend?” he asks on a breath.

“I do.”

Merlin leans down, his lips parted hungrily for a kiss, and they lick into each other’s mouths, slow and deep and luscious. He groans into it as Arthur pushes the tuxedo jacket off of his shoulders and untucks his shirt, pressing his hands, warm and firm up Merlin’s back.

They roll their hips against each other, and within minutes, they’re both aching for it. Merlin knows what he wants to do, though, and he forces himself to break off the kiss.

He catches his breath and leans back, pressing his hands to Arthur’s chest, pushing him against the cushions. He lets his own legs slip to the floor so that he’s kneeling between Arthur’s bare feet, his hands already on Arthur’s buckle.  

“Merlin,” Arthur rasps out vaguely in protest, but hitching his hips up into Merlin’s hands at the same time. “Do you want to go—”

“No,” Merlin says, locking his eyes on Arthur’s. “Let me.”

Arthur runs a finger along Merlin’s jaw and smiles softly at him, as if his impressive erection weren’t jutting between them, tenting his boxer-briefs. “You looked beautiful in your tux, by the way” he says.  

Merlin quirks a smile. “Thanks.”  

“Not that it’s staying on.” Arthur tugs at Merlin’s bow tie and pulls it from his collar.  

Merlin stills and lets out a shaky breath, then resumes his work getting Arthur’s pants and jeans off and tossing them aside.

Finally, he sees Arthur’s freed cock, angling up towards Arthur’s stomach, hard and ready.  

Merlin licks his lips, shamelessly eager to have it in his mouth. “I don’t have it in me to tease you right now,” he mumbles, diving in to lick at the base and then Arthur’s bollocks. He gives them enthusiastic attention, sucking and licking gently as Arthur moans.

Merlin takes another moment to appreciate Arthur’s heady scent, then lifts his head and replaces his mouth with his hand.

He licks a long, wet swipe up Arthur’s shaft, then swirls his tongue greedily at the precome already beaded at the head.  

Arthur’s cock twitches up towards Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin smiles at the impatience of it. He feels Arthur’s hand in his hair, and he sucks the head between his lips, making Arthur’s breath catch. He sinks down to the base, relaxing his throat and keeping up the suck of his cheeks and the swipe of his tongue.  

Arthur groans, his hips hitching, and Merlin loves that he’s working those sounds from him. He steals a glance up at Arthur, hoping to see the same effect in his expression.   

Arthur’s pupils are blown, his mouth hanging open. He meets Merlin’s gaze, but then his eyes drop lower, and he whimpers at the sight of Merlin’s mouth stretched wide around his cock, bobbing up and down in loud, wet sucks.

“ _Merlin,_ ” he rasps out, and his head falls back.

Merlin closes his eyes and keeps up his rhythm, still rolling Arthur’s bollocks with his hand.   

He lets a finger slide back to tease at the sensitive skin leading to Arthur’s arsehole, and Arthur breathes out an approving “ _fuck_ ,” so Merlin lets his finger continue to play.

With his other hand, he fists the base of Arthur’s prick, and the added twists and strokes along with his mouth make Arthur’s hips hitch, trying to push deeper into Merlin’s mouth and grunting on each of his thrusts. “ _Fuck!_ ” he gasps, tugging a handful of Merlin’s hair, his thighs trembling. “ _Gonna come!_ ”

He bucks his hips up a few more times, then finally comes hard in Merlin’s mouth, with Merlin swallowing down the hot pulses that hit the back of his throat.   

As Arthur’s body relaxes and he catches his breath, Merlin rests his head on his thigh, feeling quite chuffed at the wrecked sight of him.  

“I’m sorry,” Arthur breathes out.  

“For what?”  

“Pulling your hair, almost choking you to death, that sort of thing.”

“All part of a job well done,” Merlin says, grinning and wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

Arthur huffs out a laugh. “C’mere,” he says urging him up onto his lap.

Merlin arranges himself sideways over Arthur’s thighs and wraps his arms around his neck, placing a kiss in his hair to hide his smile.

“That was amazing,” Arthur says. “I’m sorry you missed Gwen’s wedding.”  

“I’m not. Besides,” he adds, shrugging. “I was there for most of it. Also, she threw me out.”

“She threw you out?” Arthur laughs. “No wonder you were in such a hurry to come home.”

“Yeah. Especially when she insisted I confess my undying love for you before it was too late.”  

“Your undying love? I like the sound of that,” Arthur grins.

“Oh, god. Forget I said that. I was just at a fairy-tale wedding and had all these realisations and, I mean, you saw how overly dramatic—”

“—Instead of forgetting it,” Arthur cuts in, hugging Merlin a little tighter to him, “why don’t I just confess my own undying love?”  

Merlin feels his blush deepen as his smile grows. “Yeah?” he asks.   

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand in his. “Yeah,” he says. “And I’m not being overly dramatic.”

He looks in Merlin’s eyes, then, and Merlin recognises there his own feelings reflected back at him, the love and the trust, the hope that maybe this really is the true love Merlin’s been after the whole time—at least since reading that stupid, wonderful gift of an article.  

“You know,” he says, tracing Arthur’s fingers with his. “We’re together before my birthday, so the statistics are in our favour.”  

“Well, thank god for that,” Arthur drawls. “Speaking of your birthday, not to mention common courtesy, I think I owe you some serious attention.”

He hooks an arm under Merlin’s knees and tightens the other one on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Merlin laughs.

Arthur hoists them up off the sofa, Merlin draped in his arms. He kicks his discarded clothes out of the way and heads for the bedroom.   

“Arthur, what are you doing? Are you carrying me over the threshold like it’s our wedding night?”

“It’s somebody’s wedding night,” Arthur answers. “And it’s almost your birthday, so I don’t really see the difference. Besides, it’s too late now to argue,” he adds, dropping Merlin rather unceremoniously onto the bed. “And it’s got you where I want you.”

He pulls off his jumper and climbs into bed next to Merlin. He kisses his cheek and neck and starts unbuttoning Merlin’s shirt. “Happy birthday,” he whispers. “Also, thank you.”

“For what?” Merlin asks, turning to him while he unbuckles his own belt.   

“Well, lots of things. But for now, let’s just say for coming home.” He kisses Merlin on the lips, sweet and soft. “For this,” he says, kissing him again and raking a hand through Merlin’s hair.

Merlin stops fussing with his flies and turns on his side into Arthur’s embrace. They kiss slow and sweet like that, almost but not quite chaste, running their hands over each other’s backs.  

Eventually, Arthur deepens the kiss, and Merlin moans and flops on his back again to finish undressing.

Once they’ve done away with Merlin’s clothes and shoes, Arthur climbs on top of him, mouthing eager kisses along his neck and jaw. Merlin’s breath catches at the feel of Arthur lying over him,  his body warm and heavy and possessive.

He hitches his hips up, craving more friction against his hard cock and relishing the feel of Arthur’s bare skin on him.

Arthur starts rolling his hips, and he claims Merlin’s mouth in a hot, messy kiss. He has one hand in Merlin’s hair, and the other is feeling its way down Merlin’s flank.

Merlin licks into the kiss hungrily and runs his hands along Arthur’s broad shoulders and back, resting them at the rise of Arthur’s arse, wanting to feel the flex of muscles there as Arthur ruts against him.

“Oh, my god,” Merlin breathes out. “Are you hard again?”   

Arthur sucks a kiss onto Merlin’s neck and hums. “Tell me what you want.”  

“I would think that’s obvious,” Merlin rasps out. “I’d really like you to fuck me.”

Arthur moans into Merlin’s neck, rolling his hips harder at the words.

He pulls back to lick Merlin’s collarbone and kiss down to his chest, running his hands greedily over his torso and hips.

He bites lightly at one of Merlin’s nipples as he wraps a hand around Merlin’s cock, and Merlin’s breath hitches in response.  

Merlin groans and arches his back, and Arthur sucks more kisses across his chest and back up to his neck, his hand pumping Merlin’s prick in slow, firm strokes.

 _“Fuck, Arthur,_ ” Merlin breathes out, and he throws an arm in the direction of the bedside-table.

Arthur leans over and opens the drawer, taking out lube and a condom and putting them on the bed as he settles on his knees between Merlin’s bent legs.

Merlin eyes Arthur’s cock, impressed and very grateful that it’s not too soon for him to be fully hard again. Arthur sees him watching and quirks a smile, then squirts lube onto his fingers. He leans over Merlin again, placing a hand between Merlin’s arse cheeks and pressing a slick finger to his tightly puckered hole.

Merlin whimpers at the feel of it, and Arthur mouths kisses up his stomach again, soothing him as his fingers, first one but soon three, pump and stretch him until Merlin is pushing back on them, groaning for more.

“Okay,” Arthur says, pulling his fingers out. Merlin keens at the loss of pressure, but he doesn’t mind when he sees Arthur ripping open the packet and rolling the condom onto his stiff prick.

He watches Arthur squirt a generous amount of lube into his hand and then fist his sheathed cock, slicking the length of it in firm, squelching strokes.

Merlin’s hand flies instinctively to his own cock, but Arthur pulls it away, then bends down to suck it into his mouth instead, bobbing up and down a few times. Merlin whimpers at the feel of it, hot and unexpected and good. “ _Arthur_ ,” he pants out, pulling at his hair. “Not yet.”  

Arthur pulls off of his cock and places one last kiss on the head, then sits up again. He pulls Merlin’s hips so his arse rests against Arthur’s thighs, and he runs a hand slowly from Merlin’s stomach over his prick and down to his arsehole, pumping his fingers inside again for good measure.

“Christ,” Merlin groans, his knees falling open, and Arthur leans over him, lining up the head of his cock with Merlin’s hole.

“You okay?” he checks, and Merlin nods, pulling Arthur down for a quick kiss before Arthur presses into him, his eyes on Merlin’s.

Merlin winces with the initial stretch, but he nods again, and Arthur pushes in in slow, deepening pulses that have Merlin moaning by the time Arthur bottoms out.

Arthur exhales a shaky breath, his eyes squinting shut. “ _God_ , you feel good,” he whispers. He pulls out an inch or two, then sinks down again to the hilt. _“So_ good,” he adds, and Merlin hums with an encouraging hitch of his hips.

Arthur starts pumping into him with long, languid rolls of his hips, and Merlin’s breath catches with the fullness and tease of it, the slowness and determination.  

It’s been a long time since he’s been fucked like this, and he relishes the feel of Arthur’s cock rubbing against that bundle of nerves inside him that spikes his pleasure every time. He moans with it and resists the urge to push back into Arthur too much.

That kind of restraint only lasts so long, though, and soon Arthur’s hips are snapping instead of rolling, and they’re both breathing heavy with it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin huffs out with each thrust. Arthur groans out a breath and lifts his head, panting. He pushes up on one hand, then hooks his other arm in the crook of Merlin’s knee, pinning his folded leg up near their shoulders.

He sinks in slower, then, to test the position. The new angle somehow makes Arthur’s cock hit Merlin’s prostate even more perfectly than before, and he groans out a _“Yes, fuck_ ,” pushing back against Arthur and urging him on.

Arthur moans Merlin’s name and starts snapping his hips faster, the rhythmic slapping of their bodies louder now with his needy thrusts.   

Merlin’s hands press along Arthur’s back and arse. He relishes the feel of the muscles beneath Arthur’s hot skin, powering every thrust. “Fuck, _Arthur_ , fuck,” he pants.  

Arthur inches higher on his knees to push into Merlin with more force, more weight, and he’s grunting with every snap of his hips.

Merlin’s toes curl as his eyes squeeze shut. He pulls his free leg up higher around Arthur, pushing his heel into Arthur’s arse. “ _Fuck_ , I’m gonna—” he moans, his muscles tensing.

Arthur shoves a hand between them and wraps it around Merlin’s cock, already slick from the sweat between them.

 _“Merlin_ ,” he grunts out, snapping his hips and pumping his fist, working Merlin to his finish.

Merlin comes in hot, thick streaks onto his chest and stomach, panting _“Arthur, Arthur_ ,” and Arthur keeps driving into him, milking extra bursts of pleasure from him as he chases his own release. 

 _“Fuck, fuck_ ,” Arthur cries, and he comes, groaning through his orgasm and rolling his hips as he needs to until finally, they slow on one last, languorous thrust.

He stills over Merlin and smiles, leaning in for a quick but thorough kiss.

Then he collapses in a heavy, sweaty (but still very appealing) heap onto Merlin’s stomach, forcing the air from Merlin’s lungs.  

Merlin chuckles and slaps Arthur on his side, which Arthur ignores.

 _“Fuck_ ,” Arthur sighs, like it’s his last word of the night.  

Merlin grins, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “I guess you worked hard at that,” he teases.

Arthur rolls his head to the side, smiling, but with less confidence than he had the night on the roof. “I tried,” he says. “Did you like it?”

Merlin snorts at the ridiculousness of the question. “It’ll do.”  

Arthur rolls his eyes, but his smile is broad now, happy. “Okay, I’m gonna get off you now,” he says.

“Thank god. You’re like a lead duvet.”

Arthur laughs and nips a bite at Merlin’s shoulder as he lifts himself up. He keeps his eyes fixed on Merlin’s expression as he pulls out his softening cock, but Merlin only winces a little. Then he ties off the condom, gets off the bed, and heads into the bathroom.

Merlin waits for him to come back, lying lazy and happy in the same position Arthur left him in. When Arthur comes back, he chuckles at the lack of initiative but then kneels next to him to carefully wipe him clean, and he tosses the cloth away.  

Merlin moves at least enough for them to get under the covers, and Arthur arranges them into comfortable spoons. Merlin grabs Arthur’s hand from his chest, kissing it and humming in appreciation. “Good night, Arthur,” whispers.  

Arthur presses a kiss to the back of Merlin’s head. “Good night, Merlin, and happy birthday.”

 _I’d say so_ , Merlin thinks with a smile, and then he closes his eyes and falls into sleep.  

 

 

They’re wakened by a loud knock on the door, and Merlin groans and rubs his eyes before opening them. He turns to face Arthur, who looks sleepy until he eyes Merlin’s mop of hair. “Morning,” he says with a laugh.  

“Shut up,” Merlin mutters.

“What? I love it! You should keep it like that all day.”

Merlin sideyes him, grimacing and pushing his hair down.

The knocking on the door gets more insistent.

“I suppose I should get that.”

Merlin gets up and throws on a t-shirt and shorts, then goes to the door and opens it to find an irritated courier in the hall.   

“Merlin Emrys?” the man grouses.

“Yes.”

“I need you to sign for this,” he says, handing him a large package.

“What is it?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Merlin frowns at the attitude, but supposes he hates mornings, too—or at least he used to. He takes the box and sees it’s from Gwen, so he signs for it and heads back inside the flat.

Arthur steps out of the bedroom in just his boxer-briefs, looking like an underwear model, and Merlin tries to hide his grin while he gets a knife to open the box.  

“Are you blushing, Merlin?” Arthur teases, strutting towards him for a kiss.  

“Oh, go snog a mirror,” Merlin laughs, shoving at him gently, but he lets Arthur get his kiss anyway.   

Arthur starts making them coffee. “What’d you get?” he asks.   

“Something from Gwen.”

There’s a cool bag inside the box, and he opens it to find two large pieces of cake—one devil’s food, the other lemon-lavender.

“Oh, my god, she sent us her wedding cake,” Merlin gapes.

“What?”

“I know!”

Arthur grins. “Well that’s birthday breakfast sorted!” he cheers, rubbing his stomach.  

They get plates and mugs and forks and dive into their breakfast of wedding cake and coffee.

“Oh my fucking god, it’s delicious,” Merlin mumbles around a mouthful of devil’s food cake. “I have to call her,” he adds, jumping up.

“What—now? The morning after her wedding?” Arthur gasps, but Merlin’s already holding his phone.

“Yup,” he says, calling and waiting for her to answer.

“Gwen!” he shouts as soon as she does. “I can’t believe you! Thank you so much! How did you even have the time to send me cake? Haven’t you been a little busy?” He leans over Arthur and steals a bite of the  lemon-lavender from his plate.

 _“Well, you missed the cake_ ,” Gwen says, “ _and I’d bought half of it for you, so you had to eat some. Plus, I knew you didn’t have anything planned for your birthday, especially with Lance and me taking off for Spain. You at least needed cake._ ”  

“You are far too good to me, Gwen.”

 _“I know, but now I’m going to get back to being far too good to Lance. But wait—really quickly—how did things go with Arthur?_ ”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, louder than necessary, since he’s sitting at the table with him again. “Gwen wants to know how things went with us.”

“Brilliantly!” Arthur yells towards the phone. “And thank you for the cake!”

Gwen laughs, and Merlin nods at Arthur, letting him know she approved of the answer. “ _Excellent,_ ” she says. _“Now, should I take his word for it? Are you really happy, Merlin?_ ”

“Yeah, Gwen. He’s exactly right. And so were you. Thanks for everything, especially kicking me out of the reception,” he laughs. “Have a great trip.”

As they finish their breakfast, Merlin thumbing at whatever crumbs are left on his plate, Arthur asks, “So, what do you want to do today?”   

“Well, for starters,” Merlin says, leaning back like he’s finally done eating. “I think I’d just like to bask in the knowledge that my plan worked out after all.”

Arthur cocks his head. “You mean that you found love in the nick of time?”

“Well, yes. And with one of my exes,” he adds triumphantly.

“No, no,” Arthur chides. “That is _not_ what happened. _I_ was right, and you found love with someone _new_. Someone better.”   

Merlin purses his lips, considering. “That’s only true if we count the roof thing as one of your one-night stands.”

“‘The roof thing’?” Arthur scoffs. “Is that how you think of it?”

“I don’t know! The night you _ravaged_ me on the roof. Is that better?”

Arthur grins. “It’ll do.”   

“Anyway, speaking of exes, did you know Leon has a thing for your sister?”

“For Morgana? He told you that?”

“Well, he said he used to, but he still seemed pretty smitten.”

“You know, they would make a strange kind of sense. You think we should tell them to go to Monaco together? Morgana actually knows French, so she wouldn’t even have to cram lessons beforehand.”

“Ha, ha,” Merlin snickers. “God, I’m so glad that’s over.”

“Me, too,” Arthur says. “Seriously, though—we should really set them up. They have a lot in common.”

“Like what?” Merlin asks, getting up to put their plates in the sink.

“Well, they’re both posh. And bilingual. And probably hate us.”

Merlin laughs as he walks back over to Arthur, grabbing his hand and leading him to the sofa. “Your sister hates you?” he asks, flopping down into the cushions.

“Well, yes and no,” Arthur says, squeezing next to him and putting an arm around Merlin’s shoulder, angling him against his chest.

They prop their feet up on the coffee table and Merlin grabs the remote. “Let me guess—long story?” he drawls, turning the telly on low and flipping through the channels.  

“How’d you know? It has something to do with how attractive I am and how hard I don't work. Anyway, I really think we should. I mean, we’ve already proven we’re excellent matchmakers.”

“You think so?” Merlin laughs. “I’m pretty sure we’ve proven the opposite. We’ve lived in this building together for ages but wasted the whole time seeing other people.”

“Oh, Merlin, what’s a few other people? Just some wrong turns on the way to true love.”

Merlin huffs. “I’m saying, true love was across the hall, Arthur. There were no turns necessary.”

“Well, then let’s just be grateful we didn’t live on different floors—and that the article didn’t say you had until 40.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Art Masterpost is [here on alby's Tumblr](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/post/178597706399/art-masterpost-for-here-we-go-again-an) ♥


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